"  1  am  ready  " 


The  Leveller 


By 

Alexander  McArthur 

(Author  of  "Gemmo,"  "Rubinstein,"    "Iri»h  Rebel*,"  Etc.,  Etc.) 


New  York 
C  H.  Doscher  &  Co. 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
C  H.  DOSCHER  &  CO. 


Inscribed  to 

SIR  FRANCIS  W.  BRADY.  Bart. 


2137087 


The  Leveller 


CHAPTER  I. 

Out  of  the  gloom  of  the  great  Isaacs  Cathe- 
dral a  young  girl,  wrapped  to  the  teeth  in 
furs,  stole  furtively,  and  casting  an  eager 
glance  up  and  down  the  snow-covered  road- 
way, beckoned  to  a  passing  iswostschik,  who 
quickly  responded  to  her  order  and  drove  up 
to  the  sidewalk. 

"Wasily  Ostroff,  Line  Four,"  Louboff  Mal- 
kiel  said  briefly. 

"Twenty-five  kopecks,  Barishnya." 

The  young  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  dis- 
dainfully. Bargaining  is  a  custom  and  a 
necessity  in  Eussia. 

"Twenty-five  kopecks!"  she  echoed.  "Do 
you  take  me  for  the  Minister  of  Finance?  I 
will  give  you  fifteen  or  nothing." 

"Make  it  twenty,  Barishnya  meliya," 
pleaded  the  driver,  as  he  looked  down  admir- 
ingly into  the  dazzling  fairness  of  her  lovely 
face.  "I  will  take  you  for  fifteen,  but  a  beau- 
tiful young  lady  like  you,  I  know,  would  not 
have  the  heart  to  force  so  close  a  bargain. 
You  see,  the  day  is  cold,  my  horse  is  hungry, 


8  THE    LEVELLER 

and  I — I  am  hungry,  too.     Ye  Bokha  bar- 

ishnya!" 

The  soft,  delicious  curves  of  Louboff  An- 
tonivna's  beautifully  chiseled  mouth  widened 
into  a  smile. 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  she  replied  with 
mock  severity,  "but  charasho;  I  will  give  you 
tea  money. ' ' 

Smiling,  the  iswostschik  threw  back  the  fur 
of  his  sleigh  with  that  servile  yet  gracious 
courtesy  so  characteristic  of  the  peasant  Rus- 
sian, and  handed  her  in. 

He  buttoned  the  rug  at  the  back  of  the  seat 
with  clumsy  fingers,  for  his  hands  were  en- 
cased in  thick  fur  gloves,  tucked  the  fur  well 
about  her  feet,  and  got  up  on  his  own  seat 
with  as  much  alacrity  as  the  heavy  swathings 
of  his  body  would  allow;  then  with  a  grunt 
of  approval  and  a  word  of  endearment  to  his 
lean  and  hungry  beast,  he  drove  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  Neva. 

Louboff  settled  down  under  her  heavy  fur 
coverings  comfortably;  then  the  noise  of 
horses'  hoofs  behind  her  made  her  look  round 
suddenly.  All  at  once  the  usual  fairness  of 
her  complexion  deepened  with  a  flush  of  an- 
noyance, and  her  starlike  eyes  lost  their  soft- 
ness in  one  swift  flash  of  anger. 


THE    'LEVELLER  9 

"Ah,  so  I  am  under  surveillance  !"  she  mut- 
tered petulantly. 

The  she  bent  forward  to  the  iswostschik. 
"Turn  and  drive  toward  the  Winter  Palace," 
she  commanded  briefly.  "Drive  quickly  and 
there  is  big  tea  money  for  you ! ' ' 

"Charasho!  Charasho!"  assented  the 
driver,  and  turning  immediately,  LoubofF  was 
enabled  to  get  a  good  look  at  the  official  fol- 
lowing her.  Then,  as  she  expected,  the  latter 
gave  a  like  order  to  his  iswostschik,  seeing 
which  LoubofF  laughed. 

"And  it  is  to  such  stupids  as  these  that 
they  entrust  our  surveillance!"  she  thought 
sneeringly. 

A  few  seconds  later  she  bent  forward  again. 
"It  is  too  cold  to  go  farther.  Drive  directly 
to  Wasily  OstrofF,"  she  said,  not  without  a 
tremor  in  her  voice  as  her  hand  touched  some 
papers  inside  the  fur  lining  of  her  cloak. 

"I  hear;  I  obey,"  replied  the  man  gladly, 
and  whipping  up  his  horse  they  drove  swiftly 
along  the  quay  and  over  the  Nicholaifsky 
Most  or  Nicholas  Bridge ;  the  winds  sweeping 
up  the  frozen  Neva  cutting  the  exposed  flesh 
of  their  faces  till  it  tingled. 

Turning  to  the  right,  they  entered  the  quar- 
ter of  St.  Petersburg  which  corresponds  to 


10  THE    LEVELLER 

the  famous  Quartier  Latin  of  Paris.  The 
Masily  Ostroff,  or  Basil  Island,  is  one  of  the 
many  islands  of  the  Neva — the  quarter  of  the 
city  where  the  various  schools,  colleges  and 
academies  of  art  are  situated,  and  the  quarter 
where  students  of  all  classes  congregate  daily 
and  usually  find  lodgings. 

They  drove  up  Line  Four,  and  again  Lou- 
boff  cast  an  anxious  glance  behind.  The  same 
official  was  following. 

Calling  to  the  iswostschik  to  stop,  Louboff 
Antonivna  got  out  and  paid  the  man  his  fif- 
teen kopecks,  with  twenty-five  extra  for 
natschai,  or  tea  money,  listening  with  a  smile 
of  amusement  to  his  blessing,  which  embraced 
the  whole  hierarchy  of  heaven.  Then  she  went 
through  a  small  garden,  up  a  steep  flight  of 
wooden  steps,  and  after  ringing  was  admitted 
at  once. 

A  young  man,  like  her  in  features  and  col- 
oring, but  unlike  her  in  that  he  was  sinister 
and  forbidding,  whereas  she  was  beautiful 
with  a  beauty  that  was  startling  in  its  fresh 
youthfulness  and  candor  of  expression,  came 
to  the  door. 

"I  waited  a  full  half  hour,"  she  began 
crossly, ' '  but  no  one  came.  I  have  the  papers 


THE  LEVELLER  11 

still,  and  I  was  followed  right  here,  even  to 
the  very  door." 

"Followed?"  he  whispered,  and  blinked  his 
eyes  perplexedly. 

"Yes.  Don't  ask  me  again  to  do  such 
work.  See,  my  hands  are  trembling." 

"Well,  it  is  good,  doushinka  (little  soul), 
that  you  thought  of  coming  here.  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch  is  with  me ;  your  visit  could  not 
be  better  timed.  He  is  in  my  room  now.  Ee- 
member,  he  is  a  fanatic — a  Slavophile  of 
Slavophiles.  It  would  be  an  excellent  thing 
if  you  could  pretend  that  you  thought  well  of 
his  faith.  I  have  been  able  to  tell  him  much 

about  you,  but "  He  put  his  finger  to  his 

lips,  smiled,  and  led  the  way  upstairs  to  a 
room  on  the  first  landing. 

"Boris  Alexanderowitch,  this  is  my  sister, 
Louboif  Antonivna." 

A  young  man  jumped  to  his  feet  as  they 
entered  the  room,  and  to  Louboff,  slender  and 
petite,  he  looked  a  young  giant.  He  drew  his 
six  feet  to  their  full  scope,  and,  with  his  heels 
well  together,  gave  her  the  regulation  Russian 
military  salute,  bending  the  head  only. 

In  his  uniform  of  a  student  of  the  Engineer- 
ing School,  or  Corps  des  Mines,  he  was  a  sol- 
dierly and  handsome  figure.  Looking  up, 


12  THE    LEVELLER 

Louboff  caught  the  flash  of  blue  eyes,  the 
sheen  of  golden  hair,  and  a  smile  which  illumi- 
nated a  countenance  singularly  honest  and 
open. 

"What  a  nice  boy!"  she  thought  instan- 
taneously, and  she  gave  him  her  hand,  blush- 
ing because  of  the  circumstances  of  their 
meeting.  There  had  been  so  much  plotting  to 
accomplish  it,  and  he  looked  so  simple,  so 
honest.  It  seemed  a  shame  to  take  advantage 
of  his  good  nature;  but  Michel  was  looking 
on  lynx-eyed,  and  her  animation  and  smile 
came  in  readiness. 

i  Boris  Alexanderowitch  was  conscious  of  a 
curious  sensation  as  he  looked  down  into  the 
delicious  Oriental  face,  with  its  wistfulness  in 
repose,  its  sensitiveness  and  its  expression  of 
dreamy  languor — a  sensation  of  coming  sud- 
denly on  something  long  sought  for  and  much 
wanted,  a  sensation  of  finality ;  the  settling  of 
a  desire  poignant,  keen  and  overwhelming 
to  the  senses. 

A  delightful  feeling  of  the  deeper  scope  of 
life  took  possession  of  him  as  he  feasted  his 
eyes  on  her  beauty.  The  color  in  her  cheeks, 
caused  by  contact  with  the  frosty  air  out- 
doors, was  faint  and  lovely,  like  the  petals  of 


THE    LEVELLER  13 

a  wild  rose.  Her  eyes  shone  and  danced,  and 
Boris  noticed,  when  cast  down,  that  her 
lashes  lay  thick  and  curling  fully  an  inch  on 
her  cheeks. 

His  admiration  was  undisguised.  For  sev- 
eral minutes  he  kept  his  eyes  on  her  like  one 
fascinated,  and  his  courtesy  toward  her  was 
exaggerated  and  extreme,  tinged  with  a  shy- 
ness very  flattering  to  the  instincts  of  a 
woman. 

Michel  turned  to  a  cupboard  to  get  out  the 
vodka,  with  which  all  guests  on  arrival  in 
winter  time  are  greeted,  and  while  he  fumbled 
with  the  liquor  glasses  he  smiled. 

"It  will  be  as  easy  as  a  song,  as  easy  as  a 
dream,"  he  thought  triumphantly,  as  he 
turned  with  the  glasses  and  the  bottle.  "He 
is  smitten  already." 

"Louboff,  roll  some  cigarettes,"  he  said 
authoritatively. 

"Pardon  me,"  cried  Alexanderowitch, 
jumping  to  his  feet.  "Can  I  not  do  that?" 

' i  No ;  Louboff  is  an  expert.  I  never  smoke 
any  but  those  she  rolls.  You  must  try  some." 
Michel  interposed,  and  Louboff  laughingly 
got  the  tobacco  and  papers,  working  these 
into  cigarettes  with  incredible  swiftness. 
Boris  gazed  intently. 


14  THE    LEVELLER 

Michel  poured  out  the  vodka,  and  they 
drank  standing.  Then  a  servant  brought  in 
the  samovar  and  Louboff  made  tea,  pouring 
into  glasses  with  silver  holders  and  long 
spoons,  gilded  and  heavily  enameled.  They 
settled  themselves  comfortably,  and  after  a 
while  Michel  excused  himself  for  a  few  min- 
utes on  the  plea  of  a  letter  to  write,  and,  going 
into  an  adjoining  room,  left  Louboff  and 
Boris  alone. 

For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke.  Both 
felt  a  little  awkward — the  awkwardness  of 
interest  and  youth — then  Louboff,  remember- 
ing her  brother's  advice  as  to  the  Slavophile 
tendencies  of  their  guest,  said  gently: 

"  Just  fancy,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  where 
I  have  just  come  from  I  was  born ;  I  may  say 
under  its  very  shadow,  and  only  to-day  I  see 
it  for  the  first  time — your  great  Isaacs  Cathe- 
dral. How  splendid  it  is ! " 

Boris  looked  up,  and  Louboff,  seeing  the 
sudden  flash  of  interest  in  his  eyes,  knew  she 
had  scored  a  point. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  splendid,  Louboff  Anto- 
nivna.  Were  you  there  for  service?" 

"No;  the  fancy  just  took  me  to  go  in  and 
see  it,"  she  went  on,  keeping  her  starlike  eyes 


THE  LEVELLER  15 

fixed  on  his  interested  face.  "I  am  not  an 
Orthodox,  you  know,  but  I  am  very  much 
drawn  toward  your  religion.  It  has  some- 
thing that  goes  to  my  heart.  A  je  ne  sais  quoi 
that  appeals  to  me.  It  is  wrong  of  me  to  ad- 
mit this,  I  suppose,"  she  added,  faltering. 

( i  Oh,  no,  no ! "  he  broke  in  eagerly,  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  one  whose  faith  was  the  vital 
part  of  his  life — the  beginning  and  ending  of 
his  day's  thought,  the  pivot  about  which  his 
whole  Slavophile  sentiments  centered.  His 
heart  commenced  to  beat  quicker.  The 
thought  of  a  possible  proselyte  in  Louboff  set 
all  his  interest  afire.  It  would  be  a  task  he 
would  undertake,  as  Louboff  well  knew  and 
counted  on. 

* '  Do  not  let  such  a  wrong  thought  take  hold 
of  you.  Your  religion  is  good — all  religions 
are  good — but,  Louboff  Antonivna,  our  re- 
ligion is  best  of  all." 

She  smiled.  "It  is  a  very  wonderful  re- 
ligion," she  assented  gravely;  "an  ideal 
religion.  But  so  many  of  our  people  affect 
your  belief  for  mercenary  reasons,  I  hate 
even  to  say  it — well — even  interests  me." 

"You  are  so  honest — too  honest !"  he  broke 
in  admiringly. 

"No,"  she  said  simply,  "I  only  tell  you  a 


1G  THE    LEVELLER 

fact.  Michel,  for  instance,  he  would  join  the 
Orthodox  Church  to-morrow  only  because  it 
would  help  him  in  his  profession.'* 

"Of  course  Michel  would,  and  why  not?" 
the  young  man  himself  said  laughing,  as  he 
entered  the  room.  "All  religions  are  a  farce. 
Do  right ;  that  is  the  main  precept  which  most 
people  forget  in  their  concern  for  form.  Yes, 
Boris  Alexanderowitch,  I  would  go  through 
the  longest  ordeal  and  prostrate  myself  be- 
fore your  images  till  my  knees  ached.  Nor, ' ' 
he  added  tauntingly,  seeing  the  surprised  re- 
proach mingled  with  pity  in  Boris  Alexan- 
derowitch 's  face,  "would  I  be  the  first  Jew, 
either,  to  do  so! " 

"Michel!"  cried  Louboff  pleadingly. 

"He  talks  of  that  of  which  he  knows  noth- 
ing," Boris  said  soothingly,  turning  to 
Louboff.  "Perhaps  he  will  know  some  day." 

Michel  laughed  derisively.  "Oh,  perhaps, 
perhaps,"  he  said,  drawling  out  the  last  word, 
"but  don't  put  notions  into  Louboff 's  head. 
See  her  face — she  is  too  much  interested  as  it 
is.  Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  She  came 
here  to  have  me  take  her  to  see  our  collection 
in  the  Corps  des  Mines.  Suppose  we  go 
there,  all  three.  I  know  it  will  only  make  the 
thousandth  time  you  have  played  the  part  of 


TEE  LEVELLER  17 

cicerone,  Boris  Alexanderowitch ;  I  saw  you 
with  some  ladies  yesterday — one  of  them,  I 
think,  the  daughter  of  the  Minister  of  the 
Interior. ' ' 

"Yes,  my  cousin,  Vera  d'Annenkoff." 

Brother  and  sister  exchanged  glances. 

"Your  cousin!  Why,  how  many  cousins 
have  you  among  the  Ministers  ?  The  Minister 
of  Instruction  is  also  your  cousin.  What 
splendid  chances  you  have,  Boris  Alexandero- 
witch ! ' '  Michel  went  on  with  meditative  envi- 
ousness,  "you  will  get  some  great  post;  be 
made  a  general — a  member  of  the  Privy 
Council,  perhaps." 

"I  hope  so,  why  not?"  assented  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch, well  pleased  to  have  his  possible 
brilliant  prospects  commented  on  in  Louboff 's 
presence. 

"Yes,  why  not?"  echoed  Michel  with  a 
sigh. 

"Well,  I  will  get  my  cloak,"  said  Boris 
rising. 

"Clnarasho,  charasho,"  said  Michel  nod- 
ding as  he  went  with  him  to  the  door. 

As  soon  as  the  footsteps  of  the  young 
Eussian  student  had  died  away,  Michel  turned 
to  his  sister  hastily. 

"Can   you   do   it!     Your   instincts    of   a 


18  THE    LEVELLER 

woman  must  tell  you,"  he  queried  in  a  whis- 
per of  intense  earnestness. 

"Do  what?"  Louboff's  face  had  grown 
paler,  her  eyes  were  troubled. 

"Use  him." 

"Michel,  I — I  cannot  say." 

Into  the  face  of  the  young  Jew  there  came  a 
frenzied  enthusiasm. 

' '  You  must !  You  must !  Listen,  Louboff , ' ' 
he  cried,  catching  hold  of  her  two  hands  and 
gazing  sternly  into  her  frightened  eyes.  ' '  We 
need  him.  He  holds  the  key  to  our  success,  and 
no  sacrifice  will  be  too  great  to  gain  him. 
Flatter  him,  lead  him  on,  let  him  make  love  to 

you.    A  kiss What  may  he  not  tell  you 

for " 

"Michel!"  Louboff's  eyes  were  blazing,  her 
expression  full  of  angry  amazement,  her  voice 
shrill  in  its  horror. 

He  flung  her  hands  from  him.  "Can  you 
not  forget  yourself  for  a  purpose  ? "  he  asked 
with  sinister  wrath.  "Is  there  any  price  too 
great  to  pay  for  revenge — revenge  for  our 
wrongs;  the  wrongs  of  years,  the  cruelties, 
merciless,  inhuman,  hellish,  against  our  peo- 
ple. Louboff,  have  you  forgotten  them?  Are 
you  so  lacking  in  spirit?  Would  you  hesi- 


THE  LEVELLER  19 

tate?"  He  went  on  breathlessly;  then  he 
paused.  * '  Bah ! "  he  cried  derisively. 

"Michel,  you  are  out  of  your  mind !"  Lou- 
boff  put  her  arms  about  her  brother's  neck 
and  kissed  him  gently  and  tenderly ;  then  she 
said,  her  musical  voice  low  and  surcharged 
with  emotion: 

"My  brother,  I  hate  them  as  they  hate  us; 
I  will  use  him  if  I  can,  but " 

It  was  Michel  who  roused  himself  first,  and 
in  a  second  his  features  had  assumed  their 
wonted  expression  of  passiveness  and  pa- 
tience. Boris  Alexanderowitch  was  descend- 
ing the  stairs. 

"May  the  God  of  our  fathers  assist  us !"  he 
murmured  reverently,  then  he  went  forward 
to  open  the  door.  Ten  minutes  later  the  trio 
were  strolling  along  the  banks  of  the  Neva, 
Boris  a  little  ashamed.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  his  life  that  he  had  ever  been  in  the  com- 
pany of  Jews,  and  he  tried  to  ignore  the  sur- 
prised glances  of  his  comrades  whom  he  met 
and  to  give  all  his  attention  to  Louboff. 

"Well,  even  if  she  is  a  Jewess,  surely  she 
is  divinely  lovely, ' '  he  told  himself  for  solace. 


CHAPTER  II. 

When  Boris  Gourowsky  took  up  his  quar- 
ters in  Line  Four  of  the  Wasily  Ostroff  an 
anxious  mother  in  the  Provinces  wrote  to 
him: 

"  Whatever  you  do,  my  boy,  make  no 
friends  with  young  people  whose  family  ante- 
cedents are  not  well  known  to  you.  I  would 
rather  you  had  found  lodgings  the  other  side 
of  the  Neva;  but  since  you  say  they  are  all 
too  dear,  you  must  only  be  very  careful. 
Above  all,  avoid  the  Jews.  They  are  the  ring- 
leaders in  all  the  student  riots,  and  it  is  so 
easy  for  one  totally  innocent  to  become  mixed 
up  in  such  affairs. 

"Every  evening  write  me  exactly  your 
movements  of  the  day;  whom  you  have  seen, 
what  you  have  done,  and  where  you  have 
spent  your  time.  Go  to  the  Annenkoffs  as 
often  as  possible,  even  if  they  are  not  cordial 
to  a  poor  relative. 

"Remember  Count  d'Annenkoff  is  my 
brother  and  you  have  a  right  to  his  protec- 
tion. Therefore,  shut  your  eyes  to  anything 

the  Countess  may  say  or  do.     She  is  very 
20 


THE    LEVELLER  21 

mondaine  and  severe  of  manner ;  consequent- 
ly, she  may  snub  you,  but  that  must  make  no 
difference  in  your  attitude. 

' '  I  have  a  premonition,  about  you,  my  boy. 
I  fear  this  journey  of  yours  to  St.  Peters- 
burg; you  would  take  it  on  Friday,  but  I  am 
probably  only  superstitious.  Still,  do  as  I 
tell  you,  and,  God  willing,  all  will  be  well." 

On  the  receipt  of  this  epistle,  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch  smiled  with  the  heedless  con- 
temptuousness  of  youth.  He  knew  what  his 
mother  feared,  and  that  her  fears  were  based 
on  well-grounded  facts. 

The  whole  Wasily  Ostroff  was  honey- 
combed with  Nihilism  and  Nihilistic  doctrines, 
but  Nihilism  had  no  attraction  and  no  terrors 
for  him.  He  despised  it  principally  because 
he  considered  that  the  Poles  and  the  Jews 
were  its  leading  spirits,  and  for  both  races 
he  had  the  Bussian's  profound  and  inborn 
dislike. 

That  there  were  abuses  and  disadvantages 
in  the  government  of  his  country,  he  was  the 
first  to  acknowledge.  He  longed,  like  thou- 
sands of  his  conservative  countrymen,  for  a 
constitutional  government,  but  he  was  also 
aware  that  his  country  was  far  from  ripe  for 
it.  He  knew  this,  having  watched  his  father's 


22  THE    'LEVELLER 

labors,  his  disappointments  on  behalf  of  his 
serfs. 

Alexander  Gourowsky  had  been  one  of  the 
first  to  free  the  five  thousand  souls  that 
labored  for  him,  and  before  the  Ukase  of  the 
Tzar  liberating  them  had  been  a  diligent 
worker  toward  this  end;  but  the  results  had 
been  far  from  those  desired.  Boris  Gourow- 
sky had  seen  his  father  die  a  slow  death, 
caused  by  disillusions  and  disappointment. 
The  once  prosperous  lands  of  Gourowsky, 
when  owned  by  Count  Gourowsky,  had  given 
a  generous  revenue;  the  peasants  were  uni- 
formly content  and  happy.  They  always  had 
plenty  to  eat,  fur  cloaks  or  shoubas  for  the 
winter,  a  warm  stove*  to  sleep  on,  and  most 
of  them  owned  a  balalika  or  a  concertina  to 
make  music  on  in  the  evenings  when  their 
work  was  done. 

Then  the  Ukase  of  Alexander  II.,  freeing 
the  serfs,  changed  the  old  order.  On  the 
Gourowsky  estate  there  was  great  rejoicing, 
none  being  happier  than  Count  Alexander 
Gourowsky  himself.  For  a  while  things  went 
on  splendidly,  but  only  for  a  while.  Then, 
little  by  little,  the  once  prosperous  property 
began  to  decline. 

*  During  the  six  months  of  cold  weather  the  Russian 
peasants  sleep  on  the  tile  covering  of  their  massive  stoves. 


THE    LEVELLER  23 

In  the  various  villages  of  the  estate  Jewish 
money  lenders  settled  in  the  guise  of  shop- 
keepers, ostensibly  assuming  Orthodoxy  to 
make  their  residence  possible. 

Ivan,  the  thriftless,  suddenly  a  land  owner 
where  formerly  he  had  been  a  slave,  all  too 
soon,  because  of  easy  credit,  found  himself  in 
debt.  Vodka  was  plentiful,  and  it  was  much 
easier  and  far  pleasanter  to  sit  at  home  and 
drink  than  work. 

Bit  by  bit,  the  holdings  of  the  peasants  were 
mortgaged  to  the  Jews.  Alexander  Gourow- 
sky  did  his  best  to  stem  the  new  tide  of 
affairs.  He  went  among  his  once  happy  peo- 
ple, threatening,  reasoning,  and  exhorting, 
but  to  no  purpose.  Sometimes  when  Ivan  was 
sober  he  would  listen  to  reason,  but  when 
Ivan  was  drunk — a  usual  condition,  for 
vodka  of  the  vilest  sort,  at  extortion  prices, 
was  plentiful — the  money  lenders  were  his 
best  friends  and  Count  Alexander  a  med- 
dler. 

For  some  years  things  went  on  so,  till  credit 
and  with  it  vodka,  had  ceased ;  then  the  peas- 
ants too  late  realized  that  their  boasted  free- 
dom had  brought  with  it  a  bondage  cruel  and 
merciless,  that  of  the  rapacious  Jews,  who 
now  assumed  practical  ownership  of  their 


24  THE    LEVELLER 

holdings.  This  forced  the  peasants  to  a 
ceaseless  round  of  toil,  that  the  mere  interest 
of  moneys  lent  might  be  paid. 

On  the  Gourowsky  estate  there  followed 
several  bloody  anti-Semitic  riots.  Count 
Alexander  Gourowsky  was  blamed  for  these. 
Paid  emissaries  of  the  money  lenders  circu- 
lated various  reports  till,  harassed  beyond  en- 
durance, Count  Gourowsky,  broken  down  in 
health,  was  forced  to  start  for  St.  Petersburg 
in  a  raging  snow  storm,  to  answer  the  ques- 
tions of  the  authorities.  An  attack  of  pneu- 
monia caused  his  death,  but,  even  at  the  last, 
he  still  thought  of  his  " souls,"  as  he  always 
called  his  people. 

He  had  impoverished  himself  in  the  vain 
attempt  to  pay  off  their  mortgages.  In 
leaving  all  to  his  widow  and  his  only  son, 
Count  Boris,  he  begged  them  to  live  frugally 
and  continue  the  building  of  the  schools  he 
had  planned  throughout  his  estate. 

' '  It  is  not  in  Nihilism,  but  in  education,  that 
the  ultimate  salvation  of  my  country  lies," 
wrote  the  philanthropist,  in  his  will;  and 
Boris,  who  was  then  only  fourteen,  vowed  to 
follow  his  father's  teachings  and  comply  with 
his  request  to  the  uttermost. 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  had  been  pure  accident  that  led  Boris 
Gourowsky,  as  he  thought,  to  the  rooms  of 
Michel  Malkiel.  Malkiel,  a  schoolmate,  had 
the  rooms  immediately  below  him,  and  much 
as  he  tried  to  avoid  the  young  Jew,  still  total 
avoidance  was  out  of  the  question. 

On  several  occasions  Michel  had  invited 
him  to  a  "spread"  in  his  rooms,  but  Boris 
had  always  found  a  means  of  excusing  him- 
self. Michel  would  offer  him  a  cigarette; 
Boris  if  he  had  to  accept  it  would  crumble  it 
unsmoked  between  his  fingers,  throw  it  away 
or  purposely  drop  it. 

But  Malkiel  had  a  purpose,  and  Boris'  good 
nature  was  not  proof  against  it.  On  the 
morning  in  question,  immediately  after 
luncheon,  while  Boris  was  working,  there  had 
been  a  knock  at  his  door,  and  Michel,  humble, 
perplexed  and  begging,  stood  outside.  He 
was  utterly  at  sea  over  a  proposition — the 
examination  was  near — would  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch  help  him  out? 

The   young   Eussian   had   hesitated.     He 

25 


26  THE    LEVELLER 

would  have  slammed  the  door  in  Michel's  face 
had  he  followed  his  instincts,  but  his  good 
nature  was  stronger.  It  would  only  be  a  mat- 
ter of  a  few  minutes,  he  told  himself,  an  hour 
at  most,  and  then  it  would  be  a  case  of  a 
double  avoidance,  of  picking  a  quarrel,  of 
anything  to  free  himself  from  the  insistent 
courtesy  of  his  schoolmate. 

Even  as  he  followed  the  latter  downstairs, 
he  decided  to  change  his  lodgings.  Then 
Louboff  arrived,  and  Boris,  vanquished, 
drank  vodka  and  tea  with  them. 

"Why  did  I  not  refuse?"  he  asked  himself 
angrily,  as  he  found  himself  between  the 
brother  and  sister,  on  the  banks  of  the  Neva. 
"I  am  without  stamina,"  he  thought;  then 
Louboff  glanced  up  at  him  and  his  misgivings 
were  lost  in  wonder  at  her  beauty. 

After  an  hour  in  her  company,  Boris  Gou- 
rowsky's  preconceived  notions  of  the  Jewish 
race  received  a  somewhat  rude  jolting.  In 
her  all  the  distinctive  traits  of  a  people  he  had 
learned  to  dislike  intensely  were  absent  or 
so  effaced  as  to  be  nonrecognizable.  The 
more  he  talked  to  her  the  more  his  notions 
became  confused  or  upset,  and  he  began  to  ask 
himself  if  he  were  not  narrow-minded  to  sup- 
pose it  was  otherwise  with  Jews  than  with 


THE  LEVELLER  27 

Christians,  or  if  in  one  race,  as  in  the 
other,  various  classes  were  not  to  be  found. 
He  asked  himself  if  the  lines  between  the 
objectionable  and  the  unobjectionable  were 
not  equally  marked  among  his  own  people. 

He  realized  his  feelings  with  overmaster- 
ing force. 

Louboff  a  Jewess !  He  looked  at  her  side- 
ways and  the  loveliness  of  her  features  daz- 
zled his  senses.  There  came  to  his  memory 
the  Jews  of  the  Provinces:  the  sleek,  hawk- 
nosed  men  with  their  whining  voices,  oil 
soaked  ringlets,  evil  smelling  gaberdines ;  the 
Jews  who  had  fattened  in  his  father's  vil- 
lages. Decidedly  Louboff  was  not  of  this 
class,  hardly  even  Michel,  although  Michel 
had  their  eyes,  and  his  lips,  like  theirs,  were 
outcurled  and  sensual.  Yet  his  senses  told 
him  she  was  of  their  race.  But  what  did  it 
matter?  He  flattered  himself  with  the  deci- 
sion that,  after  all,  beauty  was  always 
beauty,  removing  barriers,  effacing  preju- 
dices, always  a  law  unto  itself. 

"But  why  do  I  worry  about  this?"  the 
young  Eussian  asked  himself  scornfully. 
"What  is  Louboff  Malkiel  to  me?  She  was  a 
stranger  to  me  an  hour  ago,  and  an  hour 
hence " 


28  THE    LEVELLER 

Just  then  Louboff  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
and  even  through  the  thickness  of  his  fur  coat, 
the  mere  contact  of  her  fingers  caused  his 
blood  to  run  riot  in  his  veins. 

Then  a  great  horror  took  possession  of  him. 
He  thought  of  his  mother,  and  a  dozen  contin- 
gent ideas  scurried  through  his  brain.  They 
had  reached  the  Corps  des  Mines,  and  an 
overmastering  desire  to  fly,  to  save  himself 
while  there  was  yet  time,  took  possession  of 
him. 

Hastily  he  sought  in  his  mind  for  some  ex- 
cuse. 

"Oh,"  said  Michel  at  his  elbow,  "here  are 
some  friends  of  mine.  Do  take  Louboff  in 
and  show  her  the  collection.  You  can  do  it 
so  much  better  than  I. ' ' 

Boris  looked  helplessly  from  brother  to 
sister,  and  caught  a  soft,  expectant  glance 
from  Louboff 's  widely  opened  eyes. 

"Of  course,  of  course;  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,"  he  stammered;  and  the  scene  of 
that  moment — the  snow-covered  streets  daz- 
zling in  the  sunshine,  the  golden  dome  of  St. 
Isaac's  shining  across  the  river,  the  blue  of 
the  sky  above,  and  Louboff,  adorably  lovely 
in  her  muffling  furs — was  stamped  forever 
on  his  memory. 


TEE    LEVELLER  29 

''Kismet,  kismet,"  he  said  to  himself  as 
Louboff  and  he  entered  the  great  red  building 
together. 

Michel  ran  up  the  steps  after  them  and  laid 
a  detaining  hand  on  his  sister's  arm. 

"Do  not  forget,"  he  said  in  Hebrew,  his 
face  white  in  its  earnestness. 

A  shiver  of  horror  passed  over  Louboff 
as  she  caught  the  cunning  and  elation  of  her 
brother 's  glance  and  realized  its  cause.  Nihil- 
ism in  theory  sounded  all  right,  and  there 
were  moments  when  revenge  prompted  her 
to  any  action — moments  when  the  wrongs 
committed  against  her  race  raised  her 
indignation  and  fury.  But  Nihilism  in 
practice? 

She  drew  her  breath  hard  and  in  very  pain 
at  the  thought.  Once,  in  the  Nevsky,  she  had 
seen  a  bomb  thrown  at  a  Minister  in  his  car- 
riage, and  the  bits  of  torn  flesh,  the  dismem- 
bered limbs,  the  smell  of  blood  and  powder 
had  been  an  object  lesson  which  haunted  her 
memory  frequently. 

Yet  this  was  about  to  happen  again  and 
perhaps  through  her  agency.  For  a  moment 
faintness  overcame  all  her  senses  and  the 
shadows  of  impending  disasters  seemed  to 
gather  thick  about  her. 


30  THE    LEVELLER 

1 '  Oh,  the  mystery  of  the  cruelty  of  things ! ' ' 
she  thought  despairingly,  as  the  truth  of  the 
English  poet's  line  beat  itself  maddeningly 
into  her  reason  and  left  her  sick  in  mind  and 
body. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Very  much  agitated,  nervous  always,  yet 
excited  and  pleased  by  turns,  Boris  Alexan- 
derowitch  began  a  tour  of  the  show-cases  in 
the  Corps  des  Mines.  He  opened  by  telling 
LoubofF  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
collections  in  the  world,  second  only  to  that 
of  the  British  Museum. 

Finding  that  she  was  listening,  all  attention 
and  interest,  he  warmed  to  his  subject,  and 
began  to  discuss  learnedly  on  the  values  and 
qualities  of  beryls  and  tourmalines  and  the 
beauty  of  the  most  complete  collection  of  tur- 
quoises to  be  found  anywhere. 

" There,"  he  added,  his  blue  eyes  twinkling 
with  patriotism,  "we  beat  the  British  Museum 
out  and  out." 

When  they  paused  before  the  great  nugget 
of  gold  from  the  mines  on  the  eastern  slopes 
of  the  Ural,  he  was  well  pleased  to  see  that  it 
failed  utterly  to  impress  her,  scarcely  seemed 
to  interest  her.  It  seemed  to  him  another 
proof  of  her  un-Jewish  temperament.  She 
gave  one  careless  glance  at  it  and  continued 
talking  of  the  supposed  qualities  of  ill  or 

31 


32  THE    LEVELLER 

good  luck  attributed  to  certain  stones  and 
professed  a  great  belief  in  the  pretty  super- 
stition. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  baring  a  lovely  hand, 
"I  always  wear  a  turquoise. " 

"You  have  luck  in  love?  Does  it  bring  it  to 
you?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"No,"  she  replied  with  a  coquettish  flash  of 
her  eyes  that  electrified  him.  "But  I  hope  it 
will  some  day." 

Two  hours  passed  easily.  Boris  found  she 
had  read  her  brother's  text-books  to  advan- 
tage and  had  read  them  thoroughly.  She  was 
interested  in  all  the  subjects  that  interested 
him,  and  could  match  opinions  with  him 
learnedly. 

Only  when  the  last  of  the  collection  had 
been  thoroughly  criticized  and  scrutinized  did 
they  think  of  going;  but  on  reaching  the  en- 
trance hall  Michel  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
Boris  sent  an  attendant  through  the  building 
to  search  for  him,  and  when  the  man  returned 
to  report  failure,  Louboff  said  laughingly : 

"Well,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  it  looks  as 
if  my  dear  brother  has  deserted  me,  so  I  sup- 
pose I  must  trouble  you  to  take  me  home." 

"Your  brother  is  evidently  a  very 
good "  began  the  young  Eussian  gal- 


THE  LEVELLER  33 

lantly.  Then  he  paused  awkwardly,  horrified 
at  the  fact  that  he  was  about  to  call  a  Jew 
"friend." 

Louboff  looked  up  at  him  suddenly  and  the 
change  in  his  face  and  its  perturbation  gave 
her  a  keen  pang.  Boris  just  then  hailed  a 
passing  iswostschik  and  was  about  to  make  a 
bargain,  when  Louboff  said  pleadingly :  '  *  Let 
us  walk ;  the  air  is  good  and  my  fur  shoes  are 
light.  We  can  cross  the  river  at  St.  Isaac's." 

Quite  close  to  them  stood  the  official  who 
had  followed  her  earlier  in  the  day  from  St. 
Isaac's,  and  Boris  noted  the  malice  in  her 
tones  and  wondered  if  she  wanted  to  punish 
him  by  this  proposition  of  walking,  having 
understood  why  he  had  hesitated  in  calling 
Michel  friend. 

He  determined  not  to  let  her  see  he  under- 
stood her  manoeuvre  and,  although  like  all 
Eussians  he  hated  walking,  he  said  affably : 

"As  you  please,  Louboff  Antonivna.  I 
shall  be  delighted." 

The  matter  being  settled,  Boris  smiled 
down  at  her  in  a  way  that  made  her  heart 
beat  quicker  and  caused  her  to  glance  away 
hastily  over  the  river  because  of  the  deepen- 
ing flush  in  her  face. 

Under  their   snow  shoes  the  frozen  and 


34  THE    LEVELLER 

caked  snow  crunched  and  crackled,  and  the 
frosty  air  made  their  noses  tingle.  They 
walked  several  yards  without  speaking,  then 
all  at  once  Louboff  plunged  into  a  conversa- 
tion anent  the  persecution  of  her  race,  and 
Boris  turned  and  looked  at  her,  startled,  won- 
dering if  she  could  be  a  mind  reader,  trying  to 
answer  the  many  cruel  and  ignoble  questions 
just  then  puzzling  his  brain.  It  was  mar- 
velous, he  told  himself,  and  at  first  he  listened 
impatiently,  with  that  impatience  born  of  in- 
credulity; then  he  grew  half  angry.  He  was 
too  polite  to  say  he  disbelieved  her,  so  he 
answered  in  derisive  "oh's,"  and  "all's" 
until  Louboff  taxed  him  openly  with  discredit- 
ing her  assertions. 

"Oh,  no;  oh,  no,"  he  replied  with  an  evi- 
dent show  of  irritation,  * '  but  there  are  always 
two  sides  to  a  question,  and  you  only  see  your 
own." 

"Let  me  make  it  plain  to  you,"  she  pleaded, 
"and  I  will  gladly  hear  your  answer.  I  will 
tell  you  only  of  things  within  my  own  knowl- 
edge— of  things  I  know,  things  that  happen 
constantly  in  my  own  house." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "But  what 
good  will  it  do!  What  good  have  words  ever 
done!" 


THE    LEVELLER  35 

' '  A  great  deal, ' '  she  replied  spiritedly.  ' '  If 
my  judgment  is  right  and  you  are  the  man  I 
think  you  are — well " 

Her  tone  was  flattering;  her  voice  danger- 
ously sweet  and  seductive.  Her  glance  alone 
would  have  vanquished  a  man  far  less  gener- 
ous in  sentiment  than  he,  as  she  paused, 
watching  him  intently. 

"I  am  listening,"  he  murmured  with 
averted  eyes. 

Several  times  her  voice  broke  in  its  earn- 
estness as  she  related  how  her  father,  a  mer- 
chant of  the  second  guild,  was  ,at  all  times 
subjected  to  impositions.  She  told  him  how 
officials  came  to  him  with  demands  when- 
ever they  saw  fit  for  one  thousand  roubles  or 
ten  thousand  roubles,  as  the  case  might  be, 
and  how  he  was  forced  to  pay  and  keep  silence 
or  lose  all  chance  of  doing  business.  When 
she  had  finished  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  the 
glance  of  his  eyes,  stony  and  hard,  met  hers 
unflinchingly. 

"Well,  Louboff  Antonivna,  your  father 
must  be  very  rich,  and  if  he  pays  this  tribute, 
he  knows  his  business.  He  must  have  some 
good  reason  for  paying  it;  he  must  gain  his 
wealth  through  usury." 

Expecting  a  totally  different  answer,  she 


36  THE    LEVELLER 

flushed   with    disappointment   and   chagrin. 

"It  may  be;  I  don't  know,"  she  faltered. 

Boris  noticed  the  flush  and  smiled.  At  once 
a  picture  of  her  father,  a  lean  and  hungry 
Jew,  rose  up  before  his  mind's  eye. 

"Oh,  the  beast!"  he  thought  vindictively. 
"Of  course  he  is  a  usurer;  all  Jews  are 
usurers.  Which  of  them  ever  gave  us  Chris- 
tians quarter?  Don't  they  squeeze  us  and 
harass  us  to  death  when  they  have  the 
chance?"  and  instead  of  sympathizing  with 
Louboff  over  her  father's  persecution,  he  felt 
glad  of  it. 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  father's  grievances. 

They  walked  slowly  and  more  slowly, 
wrapped  up  in  themselves  and  their  subject. 

Louboff  listened  to  his  frank  and  open  de- 
nunciation of  her  race,  her  lovely  face  grow- 
ing more  and  more  troubled,  till  finally  Boris 
caught  the  expression  and  stopped  short  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence. 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter!"  he  said  with  a 
nerveless  laugh.  "What  have  you  and  I  to 
do  with  so  deep  a  question?  See  how  beauti- 
ful the  world  is  about  us." 

"Oh,  but  we  have.  We  have,"  she  broke  in 
tragically,  "we  ought  to  do  what  we  can  to 
straighten  it." 


THE    LEVELLER  37 

She  winced  as  he  said  quickly,  again  becom- 
ing serious: 

''Straighten  it?  No.  There  is  no  way  to 
straighten  it,  believe  me,  dear  Louboff  An- 
tonivna.  There  is  not  room  in  Eussia  for  our 
two  races;  that  is  all." 

"You  would  banish  us  as  a  people?" 

"Yes,  as  a  people — all  but  you,  Louboff 
Antonivna. ' '  The  rich  tones  of  his  voice  soft- 
ened and  quavered.  l '  I  would  keep  you. '  ' 

The  earnestness  of  youth  was  in  the  added 
sentence,  and  despite  the  fact  that  it  could 
have  been  uttered  as  a  polite  compliment, 
banal  and  meaningless,  to  her  sex  and  beauty, 
Louboff  felt  he  meant  it,  as  for  one  brief  sec- 
ond they  gazed  breathlessly  into  each  other's 
eyes. 

Then  slowly  the  implied  compliment  to  her- 
self was  forgotten  and  only  the  insult  to  her 
race  remained.  She  bent  her  head  to  hide 
the  tears  of  vexation  that  rose  to  her  eyes. 

Boris  saw  them  and  grew  sorry.  He 
blinked  his  eyes  and  bit  his  lips,  in  anger  at 
himself. 

"But  why,"  he  went  on  in  a  tone  that  he 
meant  to  be  gay,  but  which  sounded  over- 
strained and  false,  "need  we  worry  over  such 
things?  When  .Tews  and  Eussians  are  alike 


38  THE    ^LEVELLER 

forgotten,  the  world  will  still  go  on.  Forgive 
me,  Louboff  Antonivna,"  he  added,  bending 
toward  her  tenderly,  "I  spoke  too  candidly. 
Why  do  you  care?" 

"Because,"  she  ejaculated  quickly  and  with 
a  passion  Oriental  in  its  abandon,  "I  hate  to 
belong  to  a  race  despised.  I  hate  it !  I  hate 
it!  The  humiliation,  the  senseless  misunder- 
standing, the  injustice.  Why  should  you  hate, 
despise  us,  loathe  us?  I  don't  hate  Chris- 
tians. I  am  too  liberal  or  too  foolish,"  she 
added  bitterly. 

"But,  Louboff  Antonivna,  I  don't  hate 
you."  He  dwelt  on  the  pronoun  lingeringly, 
fondly,  and  looking  up  she  met  his  eyes,  earn- 
est and  sincere.  Her  own  dropped  quickly 
and  confusedly. 

"Yes,  yes;  what  does  it  matter!"  she  said 
nervously,  as  she  laughed  a  laugh  that  ended 
in  a  sob.  A  tear  had  frozen  on  her  long 
lashes,  and  taking  his  handkerchief  out,  he 
brushed  the  frozen  particle  away. 

"You  will  forgive  me?"  he  begged  anx- 
iously. 

"Why,  of  course,"  and  the  smile  that  she 
gave  him  was  adorable  in  its  coquetry  and 
also  its  humility. 

They  had  reached  the  crossing  of  the  Neva, 


TEE  LEVELLER  39 

and  together  they  went  down  the  wooden 
steps  to  where  the  sleighs  stood  awaiting  pas- 
sengers. Boris  helped  her  into  the  first  and 
a  moment  later  a  swift  skater  from  behind 
was  pushing  them  along. 

As  custom  permits  and  enjoins  in  St.  Pet- 
ersburg, Boris  put  his  arm  about  Louboff  to 
keep  her  steady  and  safe  in  the  sleigh.  When 
she  felt  herself  in  his  clasp  she  nestled  closer, 
and  as  they  sped  along,  the  frosty  air  biting 
their  faces,  he  felt  angry  with  himself.  She 
was  so  fragile  and  lovely,  almost  a  stranger 
to  him;  why  should  he  annoy  and  harrow 
her  feelings  ?  So  he  whispered  as  well  as  he 
could  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind: 

"I  have  enjoyed  our  walk  immensely. " 

She  smiled  and  nodded.  The  swiftness  of 
their  pace  made  talking  impossible. 

Arrived  at  the  other  side,  Louboff  looking 
back,  saw  the  same  official  getting  out  of  his 
sleigh.  "He  has  tramped,"  she  thought 
gladly.  ' 'I  can  see  his  teeth  chattering.  And 
he  will  tramp  again."  So  she  proposed  to 
Boris  that  they  continue  their  walk,  and  he, 
nothing  loath  to  prolong  a  tete-a-tete  that  he 
was  finding  more  and  more  delightful,  ac- 
quiesced with  evident  satisfaction. 

Night  had  fallen,  and  with  the  street  lights 


40  THE    LEVELLER 

shining  on  it,  the  snow  glittered  and  sparkled 

brilliantly.     The  picturesque  troikas  of  the 

richer  classes,  with  their  blue  and  green  snow 

nets,  bells  a-jingle,  the  horses  harnessed  in 

silver,    gave    color    and    movement    to    the 

scene. 

Boris  was  determined  not  to  let  their  con- 
versation grow  serious,  so  he  began  to  talk  of 
music  and  plays  and  therefore  found  out  that 
Louboff  had  graduated  from  the  Conserva- 
torium  and  was  a  pupil  of  Rubinstein. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  modestly,  "I  play.  A 
piano  house  here  is  arranging  a  series  of  con- 
certs for  me  in  Germany,  and  I  may  go.  I 
have  already  given  concerts  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, Moscow  and  Warsaw.  Rubinstein 
wishes  me  to  play  in  Berlin." 

"When?" 

"Next  month.    I  dread  the  ordeal." 

Boris  could  not  understand  the  sudden 
sense  of  dejection  that  came  over  him. 

1 '  Michel  does  not  want  me  to  go, ' '  she  went 
on  in  her  soft,  melodious  voice.  "If  I  were 
only  sure  of  success." 

' '  Success !  You  need  only  look  at  your  au- 
dience and  you  will  be  sure  of  it,  unless  they 
are  blind,"  Boris  thought  quickly;  saying  in- 
stead, "If  Rubinstein  wants  you  to  go,  you 


THE  LEVELLER  41 

may  be  sure  of  success.  But  are  you  not 
going  to  play  here  first?  I  shall  never  rest 
now  till  I  hear  you." 

"Well,  that  is  very  easy.  You  will  dine  with 
me  to-night,"  she  said  hospitably,  "and  after- 
wards I  will  play  to  you  all  the  Chopin  Noc- 
turnes and  Preludes,  or  anything  else 
you  like — Schubert,  Schumann,  Beethoven, 
Brahms  or  Bach." 

The  Chopin  Preludes  and  Nocturnes !  The 
enchanting  music  of  the  Polish  tone  poet 
swept  through  his  memory,  and  then  he  recog- 
nized the  haunting  something  that  had  puz- 
zled him  in  her  beauty.  Yes;  the  Preludes 
and  the  Nocturnes.  These  were  what  she  re- 
minded him  of. 

' '  Delighted,  but "  His  scattered  senses 

returned,  and  out  of  his  bewilderment  there 
came  caution.  He  hesitated.  For  nothing  on 
earth,  he  decided,  could  he  eat  at  the  table  of 
a  Jew.  He  tried  to  think  of  an  excuse. 

"I  have  to  dine  at  the  house  of  my  uncle, 
Count  d'Annenkoff,  but — if  you  will  permit 
me  to  come  later?" 

"I  will  be  charmed  to  have  you,"  she  said, 
smiling  cordially,  and  again  the  Chopin 
themes  and  melodies  chased  each  other 
through  his  brain. 


42  THE    LEVELLER 

They  had  reached  the  door  and  she  gave 
him  her  hand.  He  bent  over  it  and  was  about 
to  raise  it  to  his  lips,  thought  a  moment,  and 
then  dropped  it  with  a  bow. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Just  as  Michel  left  Louboff  with  Boris  and 
turned  into  Line  Four,  a  tall  man,  wearing  a 
long  squirrel-lined  cloak,  or  shouba,  of  black 
cloth,  with  a  heavy  astrakhan  collar  and  cap 
to  match,  each  hand  thrust  through  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat,  came  up  behind  him  and 
murmured  laconically: 

"Number  Fourteen!" 

"I  listen,"  replied  Michel,  not  without  a 
start  of  surprise. 

"TraktirGlouboff." 

"Charasho." 

The  next  moment  the  stranger  had  passed 
him  and  Michel  continued  on  his  way  to  his 
lodgings. 

Traktir  Glouboff.  He  knew  the  place  well — 
a  den  in  the  Wasily  OstrofF,  where  the  mem- 
bers of  his  society  met  occasionally,  only  very 
occasionally — at  most  half  a  dozen  times  in 
the  year,  for  some  of  them  were  watched,  and 
to  congregate  in  any  number  at  any  known 
rendezvous  was  to  court  arrest. 

Michel  felt  elated.  Boris  was  safe  with 
Louboff,  and  although  Louboff,  with  her  artis- 

43 


44  THE    LEVELLER 

tic  temperament  and  refined  tastes,  might  not 
prove  as  tractable  or  easily  influenced  as  a 
woman  of  coarser  fibre,  still  he  flattered  him- 
self that  when  it  came  to  a  climax  she  would 
stand  by  him  to  the  end  and  give  every  assist- 
ance in  her  power. 

He  hurried  along  to  his  studies,  completed 
these  to  his  own  satisfaction,  ate  a  scanty 
dinner,  and  then  sallied  forth  to  his  rendez- 
vous at  the  Traktir  Glouboff,  which  was  to 
take  place  between  six  and  seven — the  dinner 
hour  in  St.  Petersburg — the  one  hour  in  the 
day,  as  the  conspirators  well  knew,  when  the 
police  were  the  most  likely  to  relax  their 
vigilance. 

Night  had  fallen,  and  Michel  shuffled  along 
in  his  heavy  fur-lined  rubber  boots,  hardly 
making  a  sound.  He  had  a  bashlik  or  hood  of 
light  brown  woolen  cloth  tied  down  over  his 
peaked  student's  cap,  the  long  ends  doubled 
over  his  mouth  and  tied  back  of  his  neck ;  this 
with  two  motives:  the  one  and  most  impor- 
tant, to  conceal  his  features ;  and  the  other  to 
keep  his  ears,  chin  and  forehead  from  freez- 
ing, the  cold  being  intense. 

The  sky  above  was  leaden  hued ;  not  a  star 
was  visible,  and  there  was  a  flurry  of  snow 
in  the  air.  The  other  side  of  the  river  with 


TEE    LEVELLER  45 

its  churches  and  palaces,  its  throng  of  gaily 
caparisoned  horses,  its  troikas  and  equipages, 
its  numerous  electric  lights,  was  always  a 
brilliant  picture  at  night,  but  in  the  dimly  lit 
streets  of  the  Wasily  Ostroff  things  were 
gloomy  and  cheerless,  and  there  was  always 
little  life  and  less  movement.  The  farther 
Michel  went  down  the  Line  the  poorer  and 
more  desolate  grew  the  aspect  of  the  streets. 
Tall  factories  grew  frequent,  and  the  lodging 
houses  of  the  students  gave  place  to  the 
meaner  houses  of  the  working  classes  and  the 
moujik. 

Except  for  an  occasional  janitor  wrapped 
in  his  sheepskin  and  half  asleep  on  his  wooden 
stool  by  the  door,  Michel  met  no  one.  Through 
the  double  windows  of  the  houses  the  young 
Jew  caught  many  a  glimpse  of  humble  but 
happy  interiors;  of  women,  buxom,  cheery 
and  laughing,  their  brilliant  kerchiefs  tied 
over  smoothly  parted  straw-colored  hair;  of 
men  in  red  blouses  belted  over  velveteen 
breeches,  their  bull-like  necks  showing  ruddy 
under  thick  locks  that  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  cut  under  a  bowl;  children  were  every- 
where, and  the  whole  family,  from  the  young- 
est to  the  oldest,  sat  by  the  stove,  sipping  tea 
out  of  long  glasses  or  eating  black  bread. 


46  THE    LEVELLER 

Michel  again  and  again  caught  the  glow  of 
the  red  lamps  hung  before  the  ikons  or  holy 
pictures,  without  which  no  Orthodox  home 
exists  in  Eussia,  and  the  sight  of  these  and  of 
the  people  uniformly  contented  and  happy 
angered  him  and  disgusted  him. 

"The  devil  take  them,"  he  murmured  to 
himself.  "They  are  satisfied.  They  are  as 
pigs  wallowing  in  their  own  mire ;  they  pray 
to  their  saints  and  their  images  for  their  so- 
called  *  little  father,'  the  Tsar,  and  if  they 
were  free  to-morrow  to  what  purpose  would  be 
our  sacrifices  !  What  slaves  they  are !  Slav ! 
How  truly  their  name  befits  them." 

He  reached  the  tavern,  passed  within,  and, 
ordering  a  glass  of  tea,  sat  down  to  wait. 
Again  he  noticed  the  contented  and  jovial 
countenances  of  the  men  about  him,  and  he 
scowled.  They  were  drinking  and  telling 
stories.  Hoarse  shouts  of  laughter  rang  in 
the  smoke-filled  room,  and  the  mien  of  all 
bespoke  at  least  contentment.  In  repose  some 
of  the  faces  were  sad.  But  they  were  a  well- 
fed,  warmly  clothed  lot.  They  had  their  tea, 
their  pipes;  some  of  them  their  balilakas — 
an  instrument  of  the  mandolin  order — to  ac- 
company their  songs ;  Michel,  studying  them, 
communed  with  himself,  and  his  wrath  grew. 


THE    LEVELLER  47 

He  finished  his  tea  and  was  lighting  a 
cigarette  when  a  stout  man,  evidently  dif- 
ferent in  calibre  to  the  frequenters  of  the 
place,  entered.  This  man  sat  down  opposite 
Michel  and  after  a  while  apparently  dropped 
into  conversation  with  him,  as  one  wonld  with 
a  stranger.  He,  too,  ordered  tea,  and  when 
bending  over  the  table  to  get  a  piece  of  sugar, 
said  sotto  voce  and  in  French: 

'  •  Look  out  for  the  moujik  near  tne  door.  He 
has  a  wig  on.  and  I  think  is  Tretiakoff,  of  the 
Secret  Police." 

After  a  while  Michel  turned  round  and  gave 
a  swift  glance  at  the  moujik. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  by  a  nod  of  his  head, 
and  a  downward  blink  of  his  eyelids. 

* '  I  thought  so.  Well,  leave  now  and  return 
fifteen  minutes  later.  Come  in  by  the  back 
door,  to  the  room  upstairs." 

Michel  stood  up  at  once,  paid  the  few 
kopecks  owing,  and  left.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  later,  to  the  second,  he  had  entered  a 
hallway  in  a  house  on  the  next  street,  and, 
reaching  the  Traktir  Glouboff  by  a  covered 
passageway,  went  direct  to  a  room  on  the 
second  floor. 

A  man  outside  the  door  admitted  him,  and 
he  found  himself  in  a  long,  low-ceilinged  room 


48  THE    LEVELLER 

of  unpainted  wood,  roughly  and  scantily 
furnished.  His  friend  of  the  Traktir,  known 
as  Number  Ten,  was  there  before  him  with 
some  half  dozen  others. 

On  entering  the  room,  Michel,  whose  sense 
of  proportion  and  distance  was  keen,  looked 
about  him  somewhat  dazedly.  The  room  was 
the  bedroom  of  one  of  the  party  known  as 
Number  Four,  a  room  Michel  often  visited; 
but  on  this  occasion  it  seemed  strange, 
smaller,  and  he  looked  about  him  in  wonder. 

Around  and  about  he  glanced  inquiringly, 
puzzled.  Everything  seemed  as  it  had  al- 
ways been,  and  yet  he  could  not  shake  off  the 
feeling  of  there  being  something  different. 
Then  the  party  settled  down  to  business  and 
he  quickly  forgot  his  first  sensations  in  the 
discussion  that  ensued.  It  was  conducted  in 
earnest  tones,  and  Number  One,  the  leader, 
spoke  in  acrid  accents  of  their  utter  failure  in 
reaching  the  Tsar. 

"Well,"  said  one  of  those  present  as  he 
balanced  his  cigarette  between  the  first  and 
second  fingers  of  his  left  hand.  "What  would 
you  have  us  do?  Kill  the  Tsaritsa?" 

"God  forbid,"  said  Number  One. 

"Then  what  can  we  do?  She  never  leaves 
him.  He  was,  as  you  say,  driving  unattended 


THE    LEVELLER  49 

on  the  Quay  of  the  Nobles,  but  she  was  with 
him.  She  was  with  him  on  every  occasion 
and  she  will  continue  to  be  with  him." 

''Except  on  this  journey  to  Moscow." 

It  was  Michel  who  spoke,  and  his  voice 
vibrated  with  enthusiasm  and  excitement. 

"Yes,  except  on  this  journey  to  Moscow," 
echoed  Number  One.  "But  that  takes  place 
when?" 

"I  think  I  can  find  out." 

All  eyes  were  directed  toward  Michel. 
Then  in  rapid,  uneven  accents  he  formulated 
his  plans  and  told  of  his  hopes. 

Number  One  stroked  his  beard.  "It  seems 
possible,"  he  said  quietly,  as  he  began  tearing 
several  lengths  of  paper.  These  he  put  in 
a  bag  handed  to  him  by  Number  Four,  and 
silently  those  assembled  drew  one  each. 

Michel  was  the  last,  and  he  drew  the  only 
one  of  great  length. 

As  he  gazed  at  the  slip  his  face  grew 
ashen  pale,  then  changed  to  a  deep  scarlet, 
and  the  pulse  in  his  throat  beat  so  that  Num- 
ber One,  facing  him,  could  see  it. 

"Your  nerve  fails  you,  little  one  I"  asked 
the  latter,  half  tauntingly,  half  playfully. 

1 '  No,  by  the  God  of  my  fathers,  no ! "  cried 
Michel,  standing  up,  his  eyes  flashing.  "Give 


50  THE    LEVELLER 

me  your   orders   now — now,"  he  repeated. 

"I  am  ready." 

"But  circumstances  are  not."  The  cold, 
clear  tones  of  Number  One 's  voice  penetrated 
Michel's  brain  dimly  and  dampened  his 
enthusiasm.  Michel  dropped  back  into  his 
seat  and  for  a  moment  the  room  reeled  about 
him  and  great  beads  of  perspiration  gathered 
on  his  forehead.  With  an  effort,  he  fumbled 
for  his  cigarette  case,  chose  a  cigarette,  and 
managed  to  light  it  with  an  unsteady  hand. 

The  others  were  watching  him  closely.  One 
of  the  members  gave  a  great  sigh.  The  boy 
looked  so  young,  so  fragile;  it  was  hardly 
possible  he  could  realize  the  promises  he  had 
made.  Then  Number  One,  who  had  mean- 
while been  pondering  ways  and  means,  be- 
gan to  give  his  directions;  short,  clear  and 
precise. 

There  would  be  no  further  meeting  for 
Michel.  Number  Four  was  to  bring  a  bomb  to 
Michel's  lodgings  and  Michel  was  to  use  it 
as  he  saw  fit. 

The  meeting  terminated  informally.  Num- 
ber Four  brought  forth  a  bottle  of  vodka,  dis- 
tributing small  glasses  to  each  of  his  guests. 
He  filled  these  glasses,  then,  lighting  cigar- 
ettes, the  guests  went  away  one  by  one,  hav- 


THE    LEVELLER  51 

ing  first  called  to  the  doorman  who  stood  out- 
side. 

This  latter  individual,  when  all  were  away, 
went  about  putting  the  chairs  in  order;  then 
he  cautiously  tiptoed  to  the  landing,  thor- 
oughly scrutinized  the  badly  lighted,  evil- 
smelling  stairs,  for  any  loiterers,  and  return- 
ing to  the  room  he  drew  his  hand  uncertainly 
along  one  side  of  the  wall. 

There  was  a  creaking  sound;  part  of  the 
wooden  partition  moved  backward,  and  out 
of  the  aperture  stepped  two  distinguished 
individuals  in  plain  clothes,  their  faces  grim 
but  contented — two  men  known  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  all  Russia  as  tlie  clev- 
erest and  most  daring  emissaries  of  the 
Tsar's  Secret  Police. 

"VasMprevoskaditeltsvo,"  said  the  door- 
man with  a  low  obeisance,  "the  way  is  clear, 
your  servant  has  done  his  duty. ' ' 

Taking  a  fifty-rouble  note  from  his  pocket, 
the  older  of  the  two  men  flung  the  blood 
money  at  the  head  of  the  bowing  traitor. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Boris  Alexanderowitch  dined  well,  and 
much  to  his  surprise  was  cordially  welcomed 
by  his  uncle.  Several  important  members  of 
the  government,  with  that  informality  which 
is  characteristic  of  Russian  hospitality,  hap- 
pening to  have  been  in  conference  with  Count 
d'Annenkoff,  had  been  invited,  and  had 
accepted  that  invitation  which  is  invariably 
extended  to  those  whom  chance  or  purpose 
finds  in  Russian  homes  at  the  dinner  hour,  so 
that  the  dinner  table  was  unusually  large  and 
brilliant. 

"Yes,"  said  Count  d'Annenkoff  in  the 
course  of  conversation  to  the  Gorodanachal- 
nik,  or  Governor  of  the  City,  *  *  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  disaffection  just  now  among  the 
students ;  my  nephew  Boris  here  may  perhaps 
have  something  to  say  on  that  subject.  He 
is  a  student  of  the  Corps  des  Mines." 

Finding  all  eyes  turned  toward  him,  Boris 
broke  off  a  conversation  with  his  cousin  Vera. 

"I — I — have  not  observed  anything,  your 
Excellency,"  he  replied  unsteadily,  in  answer 

52 


THE  LEVELLER  53 

to  a  somewhat  gruffly  worded  question  put  to 
him  by  the  Governor. 

"How  is  that?"  interposed  Count  d'Annen- 
koff  with  the  polished  politeness  of  his  best 
diplomatic  manner,  and  a  smile  steely  in  its 
coldness.  "There  are  several  members  of  a 
new  secret  society  right  in  your  class;  in 
fact " 

The  Governor  gave  Count  d'Annenkoff  a 
warning  glance  and  the  latter  hesitated  and 
then  added  blandly : 

* '  You  are  devoting  yourself  too  thoroughly 
to  your  studies,  I  suppose. ' ' 

"I  am,"  Boris  replied  quickly,  then  he 
added  proudly, ' '  and  in  any  case,  knowing  my 
connections,  my  views  and  my  sentiments,  you 
can  readily  suppose  that  no  matter  what  may 
be  the  secret  intentions  of  my  classmates — if 
they  be  as  you  state — I  am  the  last  person 
they  would  divulge  their  plans  or  inten- 
tions to. ' ' 

"The  boy  is  right,"  said  the  Governor 
bluntly. 

"Perhaps,"  Count  d'Annenkoff  remarked 
with  a  shrug,  "but  their  zeal  for  proselytizing 
may  get  the  better  of  their  good  sense,  and  if 
so,  Boris,  you  will,  of  course,  listen  to  all  they 
have  to  say  and  inform  us." 


54  THE    LEVELLER 

The  young  man's  face  flushed  darkly. 

"I — would  hardly  like  to  do  that,  mon 
oncle,"  he  said  after  a  short  pause  and  very 
positively,  "it  savors  too  much  of  espionage — 
of  underhand  dealing.  I " 

"Ah,  you  think  so!"  murmured  his  uncle 
blandly.  And  with  a  short,  disagreeable 
laugh,  General  Gresser,  the  head  of  the  Secret 
Police,  remarked  en  passant.  "You  would 
treat  these  canaille  as  gentlemen?"  Then 
looking  around  the  table,  he  said  sarcasti- 
cally :  ' '  Your  Excellencies,  we  certainly  can- 
not look  to  Count  Gourowsky  for  any  infor- 
mation on  this  subject." 

The  tone  of  the  General's  voice  was 
ominous  and  pointed,  and  judging  by  the 
quick  frown  given  him  by  his  uncle  and  the 
glances  he  met  on  all  sides,  Boris  became 
painfully  aware  that  he  had  keenly  dis- 
pleased all  those  present  by  his  answer.  He 
threw  back  his  head  indignantly. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  asked,  un- 
abashed. "I  am  no  detective  to  spy  on  my 
friends." 

"But  you  are  a  loyal  subject  of  his  Im- 
perial Majesty?"  queried  the  Governor  with 
emphasis. 

"Most  certainly." 


THE    LEVELLER  55 

" Boris,"  said  Count  d'Annenkoff  in  a 
tone  one  would  use  to  a  naughty  child,  "that 
will  do." 

Puzzled  and  annoyed  by  the  incident, 
Boris,  a  moment  later  finding  himself 
ignored,  continued  his  interrupted  talk  with 
his  cousin  and  forgot  the  incident. 

Dinner  over,  making  his  excuses  to  his 
aunt,  who  did  not  interrupt  her  conversation 
with  a  high  State  dignitary,  but  gave  her 
nephew  the  tips  of  her  fingers  languidly  and 
almost  disdainfully,  he  hurried  from  the 
palace  and  found  himself  after  a  short  drive 
before  the  house  of  Louboff  Malkiel,  on  the 
Moika. 

Once  there,  for  several  minutes  he  stood 
outside,  hesitating  about  entering.  •  A  whole 
army  of  prejudices  seemed  to  halt  him.  He 
thought  of  his  parents,  and  dead  and  living 
hands  seemed  stretched  out  to  retard  his 
progress.  What  was  he  doing!  Ignoring 
his  mother's  warnings  and  even  her  com- 
mands; forgetting  the  principles  his  dead 
father  had  so  carefully  instilled  into  his 
mind.  To  enter  the  house  of  a  Jew  as  a 
guest!  he,  Boris  Gourowsky?  It  was  incred- 
ible! What  was  he  doing?  What  sense  was 
there  in  it? 


56  THE    LEVELLER 

Were  not  the  Jews  the  bitterest  enemies 
of  his  race,  the  curse  of  his  country,  the 
mockery  of  his  religion?  He  coughed  and 
frowned  impatiently,  then  Louboff's  flower- 
like  face  rose  before  him  and  the  desire  to 
see  her  again,  to  know  more  of  her,  grew 
with  him. 

"Bah!"  he  said  to  himself  impatiently. 
"I  am  going  in  to  hear  her  music;  what  harm 
is  there  in  that?  The  Jews  have  always  been 
musical ;  Eubinstein  himself  is  a  warm  friend 
of  the  Tsar,  and  of  all  the  Grand  Dukes;  he 
used  to  be  a  friend  of  my  father's.  Why 
should  I  hesitate  about  seeing  Louboff? 
Principles  and  prejudices  are  all  very  good 
at  times,  but  there  comes  a  moment  when  to 
push  them  becomes  silly.  It  is  the  music — it 
is  Louboff  the  musician,  and  not  the  Jewess, 
I  go  to  see,"  was  the  thought  that  consoled 
him  and  swept  away  the  last  fragment  of  his 
hesitancy. 

He  pushed  open  the  door,  saluted  the 
dvornik  carelessly,  and  then  walked  upstairs 
trying  to  feel  comfortable  and  at  ease  with 
his  conscience. 

Seeing  the  name  "Malkiel,"  he  rang  a  bell 
and  a  servant  opened  the  door.  Taking  his 
coat  and  cap  from  him,  he  ushered  Boris  into 


TEE  LEVELLER  57 

a  plainly  furnished  living  room  where  two 
elderly  persons  of  decided  Jewish  cast,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  were  playing  cards. 

The  former  got  up  nervously  on  catching 
sight  of  the  tall,  soldierly  young  man,  then 
he  came  forward  civilly,  and  when  Boris  in- 
troduced himself,  Mr.  Malkiel  murmured  his 
own  name  and  with  a  backward  movement  of 
his  head  to  his  partner,  who  still  held  her 
cards  in  her  hands,  said  laconically:  "My 
sister. ' ' 

Boris  Alexanderowitch  smiled  at  seeing 
so  many  expressions  in  the  face  of  the 
Hebrew  before  him;  first  fear,  then  caution, 
then  surprise,  then  gratification. 

"You  thought  I  was  after  your  wealth; 
one  of  those  that  Louboff  told  me  of  to-day. 
Well,  I  am  glad  you  were  frightened,  if  only 
for  a  second.  How  many  unfortunate  vic- 
tims have  you  squeezed  in  your  time?"  Boris 
thought  to  himself  maliciously,  even  while 
he  bowed  politely. 

Then  Michel  came  in,  after  him  a  servant 
with  a  samovar,  and  last  of  all,  Louboff,  de- 
mure and  lovely  in  a  gray  frock. 

Boris  refused  the  glass  of  tea  Louboff 
offered  him,  on  the  plea  of  just  having 
finished  dinner,  but  as  she  insisted,  he  took 


58  THE    LEVELLER 

it  and  put  it  on  a  small  table;  then  he  sat 
down  on  a  stiff  chair  and  began  to  study  the 
first  Jewish  family  with  whom  he  found  him- 
self on  terms  of  comparative  intimacy. 

"How  horrible!  How  horrible  they  are!" 
he  thought  disgustedly.  "The  old  man  Mal- 
kiel  cannot'  look  me  straight  in  the  face, 
and  his  sister,  fat  and  greasy,  ugh,  how 
ugly!" 

Boris  grew  more  and  more  ill  at  ease.  He 
began  to  upbraid  himself  for  coming.  The 
guttural  accents,  the  whine  in  their  voices 
and  the  peculiar  gestures  of  hands  and  arms 
grated  on  senses  otherwise  attuned.  In  des- 
peration, he  turned  to  Louboff  and  tried  to 
ignore  them.  But  they  would  not  be  ignored. 
They  plied  him  with  questions,  and  the  elder 
Malkiel,  stretching  forth  a  long,  thin  hand, 
grabbed  that  of  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  and 
touching  a  handsome  cabochon  emerald  ring 
which  the  latter  wore  and  which  had  belonged 
to  his  father,  said  with  envious  delight : 

"Oh,  the  beautiful  emerald!  A  most  rare 
stone.  I  have  never  seen  such  a  stone,  and 
emeralds  are  so  dear  now  that  ring  must  be 
worth  fifty  thousand  roubles  easily.  If  ever 
you  need  money,  well " 

Boris'  nerves  seemed  at  the  point  of  crack- 


THE    LEVELLER  59 

ing.     Sell  his  father's  ring?     Boris  almost 
snatched  his  hand  away. 

Louboff  knew  her  father  was  doing  his 
best  to  be  polite,  for  to  comment  on  his 
possessions,  to  value  them  highly,  to  a  'Rus- 
sian Jew,  is  to  gladden  him  exceedingly,  but 
she  saw  the  scorn  and  anger  in  Boris'  face 
and  not  quite  understanding  why  it  should 
be  there,  she  stood  up  hastily  and  said: 

"  Father,  we  will  not  disturb  your  game. 
Come,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  I  promised  to 
play  for  you.  The  music-room  is  quite  a 
distance,  at  the  other  end  of  the  apartment, 
so  that  my  practising  will  not  disturb  the 
family.  You  will  come,  too,  Michel?"  she 
added,  turning  to  her  brother. 

"In  one  second,"  he  assented. 

As  they  went  along  Boris  was  struck  by 
two  things — the  largeness  of  the  apartment 
and  the  increasing  luxury  of  its  furnishings. 

From  the  first  room  they  passed  into 
another  similar  in  character,  then  into  a  well- 
stocked  library  with  magnificent  black  carved 
Norman  oak  furniture  and  hangings  of 
yellow  satin ;  from  that  to  a  salon  with  Louis 
Seize  decorations,  all  gilded  mirrors  and 
whiteness,  then  through  a  smoking  room 
luxuriously  appointed  in  Oriental  style,  fol- 


60  THE    LEVELLER 

lowed  by  a  dining  room  of  magnificent  pro- 
portions, where  rare  old  silver,  family 
portraits,  Flemish  furniture,  rugs,  porcelain, 
cut  glass  and  splendid  coppers  gave  an  air 
of  opulence  and  luxury  that  came  as  a  sur- 
prise to  the  tall  young  Russian. 

This  room  led  into  a  music-room,  the  walls 
of  which  were  done  in  panels,  the  polished 
floor  reflecting  the  Chippendale  furniture. 
Here  and  there  priceless  rugs  were  placed, 
great  jardinieres  of  palms,  or  roses  in  full 
bloom,  and  some  bowls  of  old  Crown  Derby 
filled  with  bunches  of  lilies  and  violets  per- 
fumed the  air  delightfully. 

In  old  cabinets  were  housed  Louboff's 
collection  of  original  manuscripts  and  auto- 
graphs, and  the  oval  mirrors  had  candelabra 
filled  with  unlighted  wax  candles. 

A  harp,  several  violins,  a  violoncello,  a 
double  bass,  quaint  balalikas,  some  guitars, 
lutes  and  mandolins,  with  an  organ  and  two 
grand  pianofortes,  completed  the  furnishing 
of  a  room  that  delighted  Boris  Alexandero- 
witch.  He  could  not  keep  back  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"Ah,  you  like  my  room,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. "You  see,  it  is  at  the  end  of  the  apart- 
ment, away  from  the  living  rooms,  so  that  the 


THE  LEVELLER  61 

others  may  not  be  disturbed  by  my 
practising." 

"It  is  indeed  beautiful,"  Boris  said. 

"Much  better,  at  least,  than  the  one  we 

• 

left,"  she  continued.  "That  is  kept  ugly 
for  papa's  tormentors.  You  see,  we  dare 
.not  keep  anything  pretty  or  valuable  where 
it  could  be  seen,  for  one  of  your  Kussian 
officials  would  be  sure  to  pounce  on  it  and 
order  it  sent  to  his  home." 

Boris  looked  incredulous. 

Louboff  Antonivna  noted  this  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Ah,  you  don't  believe  me.  Well,  never 
mind;  I  assure  you  it  is  true,  alas."  Then  she 
went  over  to  the  pianoforte  nearest  her  and 
seating  herself,  said  questioningly :  "What 
shall  it  be,  preludes  or  nocturnes?  I  am  in 
humor  for  either." 

Without  waiting  for  his  reply,  she  began 
to  wander  from  key  to  key,  and  over  her 
lovely  face  there  came  a  rapt  expression  that 
absolutely  glorified  it. 

Boris  stood  at  the  end  of  the  pianoforte, 
without  troubling  to  find  a  seat,  so  absorbed 
was  he  in  the  music.  Like  pearls  the  notes 
of  the  first  prelude  fell  under  her  fingers. 
From  prelude  to  prelude  she  passed,  playing 


62  THE    LEVELLER 

the  last  more  beautifully,  it  seemed  to  him, 
than  the  one  before.  And  all  the  time  she 
warmed  more  and  more  to  her  work. 

Boris  had  all  the  Kussian's  inborn  love  of 
music;  trained  to  it  and  understanding  it,  he 
listened  entranced.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
on  her  bent  head,  against  its  background  of, 
roses,  and  hardly  dared  to  move.  Amaze- 
ment and  delight  and,  finally,  an  ever  in- 
creasing enthusiasm,  took  possession  of  him. 

"She  is  not  only  beautiful  and  clever,  but 
she  is  an  artist,"  he  told  himself.  "What 
does  it  matter,  with  that  gift,  her  being  a 
Jewess?  And  I,  with  my  prejudices  and 
notions,  came  near  losing  all  this!  She  will 
go  to  Berlin,  to  London,  to  Paris,  and  how 
they  will  fete  her." 

All  that  is  beautiful  in  Chopin's  music;  the 
pathos,  sadness,  revolt;  the  beatings  of  a 
heart  that  knew  love  in  its  subtlest  and  most 
ethereal  phases,  with  all  the  consequent 
longings,  bitterness  and  outbursts  of  suprem- 
est  joy,  were  revealed  in  Louboff's  music; 
and  then  her  technique,  its  finished  elegance 
and  completeness  were  not  lost  on  Boris. 

"Michel  is  only  twenty  and  she  is  younger. 
She  cannot  be  over  eighteen.  It  is  marvel- 
ous, unbelievable,"  he  pondered. 


THE    LEVELLER  63 

Louboff  had  reached  the  great  E  flat  pre- 
lude. She  commenced  it  with  splendid 
bravura.  Her  flying  fingers  seemed  to  sweep 
the  keyboard.  Then  suddenly  they  struck  a 
false  note.  She  looked  up  at  him  and 
frowned. 

It  was  the  first  false  note  and  the  only 
false  note,  but  it  annoyed  her  and  sent  the 
blood  flying  to  her  face.  For  a  few  moments 
she  sang  the  joyous  melody,  and  Boris 
listened  and  looked  and  found  the  maddest 
ideas  rushing  through  his  brain  in  tune  with 
the  music. 

The  ecstasy  and  dreaminess  of  it  all !  When 
the  last  note  was  struck,  she  turned  to  him, 
tired  and  happy.  He  rushed  up  to  her, 
caught  her  two  hands,  and  raising  them  to 
his  lips,  covered  them  with  kisses. 

"Oh,  Louboff  Antonivna,  you  play  di- 
vinely !  You  have  given  me  the  greatest  hap- 
piness of  my  life." 

She  listened,  blushing.  "It  is  so  good  of 
you  to  say  so, ' '  she  whispered. 

"Good!"  he  echoed  in  amazement.  "But 
where  did  you  get  it  all;  surely  not  on 
earth?" 

"Anything  that  is  good  in  my  playing 
belongs  to  Rubinstein — our  great  Eubin- 


64  THE    LEVELLER 

stein,"  she  said  with  a  smile  adorable  in  its 

malice;  "yet,  he  is  a  Jew." 

"Oh,"  said  Boris,  laughing  outright,  "you 
cannot  forget  that." 

"No,  I  cannot." 

"Ah,  Louboff  Antonivna,  you  make  me  feel 
ashamed.  There  are  Jews  and  Jews;  I 
really  see  I  have  been  making  a  mistake. 
Perhaps  if  I  listen  to  your  beautiful  music 
much  longer  I  shall  come  round  to  your  way 
of  thinking." 

Louboff 's  impulses  were  always  gracious. 
Again  she  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

"Boris  Alexanderowitch,  you  are  atoning 
nobly;  if  only  some  day  you  might." 

Boris  smiled  enigmatically,  and  at  that 
moment  Michel  entered. 

"It  is  snowing  hard,"  he  announced  glee- 
fully. "It  looks  as  if  you  would  have  to  re- 
main here.  Those  students'  rooms  of  ours 
are  so  bleak  and  comfortless.  I  certainly  will 
not  go  to  the  Wasily  Ostroff  to-night.  What 
do  you  say,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  had  you 
not  better  remain  ? ' ' 

"Thank  you,  I  am  not  afraid  of  cold," 
the  latter  said,  rising;  "and  if  it  is  snow- 
ing hard  I  had  better  be  going.  Some 
other  time,  Louboff  Antonivna,  if  you  will 


THE  LEVELLER  65 

allow  me,  I  would  like  to  come  again." 

"Oh,  any  time,"  she  assented  graciously. 
"But  won't  you  stay?  The  Nicholaiffsky 
Bridge  is  bad  at  all  times,  but  to  cross  it  on 
a  night  like  this " 

' '  I  shall  think  only  of  your  music. ' ' 

"You  must  not  count  on  it  to  perform 
miracles,"  she  insisted,  archly. 

"The  memory  of  its  magic  will  banish  all 
discomfort. ' ' 

Leisurely  they  walked  through  the  suite 
of  rooms  to  the  outer  hall,  pausing  here  and 
there  for  Boris  to  note  or  admire  some  piece 
of  china,  a  picture  or  rare  curio. 

She  arranged  to  take  him  the  following 
evening  to  Eubinstein  to  dinner,  and  he 
arranged  to  take  her  in  the  afternoon  to  the 
service  in  St.  Isaac's. 

He  was  glad  to  find  the  old  people  had 
finished  their  game  and  had  retired  for  the 
night.  Their  presence  had  been  the  only  dis- 
cordant note  of  the  evening.  It  was  quite  ten. 
minutes  till  Boris  finally  ended  his  adieux. 

"Au  revoir,  Boris  Alexander owitch, "  she 
said,  her  head  outside  the  door,  as  he  de- 
scended the  staircase,  her  eyes  bright  and 
shining,  her  face  flushed  with  happiness  and 
excitement. 


66  THE    LEVELLER 

"Au  revoir  et  a  bientot,  Louboff  Anto- 
nivna,"  he  replied,  and  the  smile  each  gave 
the  other  was  magical  in  its  effect. 

Only  when  his  footsteps  had  died  away 
and  ceased  did  Louboff  close  the  door,  then 
lingeringly  and  preoccupied,  she  went  toward 
the  sitting-room.  A  peremptory  call  from 
Michel  made  her  finally  hurry. 

"Well,"  he  said,  when  she  reached  the 
room  where  he  was,  "you  managed  pretty 
finely.  What  do  you  think  yourself?" 

Her  face  changed  as  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders  coldly.  "He  is  a  great  Jew  hater; 
it  all  depends  on  what  you  want  me  to  do." 

"That  I  will  tell  you  later." 

"Do  not  count  on  much;  you  might  as  well 
try  to  corrupt  the  Tsar  himself  as  the  incor- 
ruptible Boris  Alexanderowitch. " 

"Corrupt?"  he  echoed  laconically,  and  he 
gave  her  a  glance  of  surprise  that  confused 
her. 

"Well,  bring  him  to  your  way  of  think- 
ing," she  stammered. 

"Love  is  a  mighty  leveller  of  prejudices, 
and  you — you  made  a  decided  impression  on 
him,  and  he — he  made  a  decided  impression 
on  you,  ma  belle." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Louboff  angrily. 


THE    LEVELLER  67 

Then,  eager  to  change  the  conversation, 
she  said  crossly:  "I  hope  your  plotting  does 
not  get  me  into  trouble.  We  were  followed 
from  the  Corps  des  Mines  right  across  the 
river  here." 

Michel  bit  his  lips.  ''You  were,  eh  I  Well, 
as  long  as  you  did  not  deliver  the  papers,  and 
you  were  not  arrested,  and  found  with  them, 
it  is  all  right,"  said  Michel,  yawning.  "You 
don't  want  to  have  another  try  at  delivering 
them  to-morrow?  They  are  two  passports 
for  men  that  are  in  grave  danger." 

"Most  assuredly  not." 

Again  Michel  glanced  at  her  sharply. 

"What!  Has  Boris  Alexanderowitch  made 
a  proselyte  already?" 

"No,  but  I  am  not  going  to  run  any  such 
risk.  No  theory  or  fact  is  worth  the  sacrifice 
of  a  human  life  or  human  liberty.  I  won't 
ever  go  on  such  a  mission  again." 

"Not  for  a  while;  you  would  make  a  bad 
envoy  if  you  invite  surveillance  so  easily," 
sneered  Michel.  "There  is  one  point  I  wish 
you  would  try  and  find  out  from  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch to-morrow,"  he  added,  trying 
to  make  his  tone  light  and  inconsequential. 
"Does  his  uncle  leave  Petersburg  Thursday 
or  Friday?" 


68  THE    LEVELLER 

"Because  Count  d'Annenkoff  goes  with  the 
Tsar?" 

"Because  nothing  at  all,  Mademoiselle," 
retorted  Michel  sarcastically,  but  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  changed  instantly  and  she 
saw  it.  Then  after  a  pause  during  which 
brother  and  sister  glared  at  each  other, 
Michel  said  sneeringly: 

"Go  to  bed  now  and  get  your  beauty  sleep, 
and  dream,  if  you  like,  that  you  are  Countess 
Gourowsky. ' ' 

Louboff  tossed  her  head  indignantly, 
nevertheless  the  sound  of  the  name  was 
pleasant  to  her  ears. 

"An  impossibility — an  utter  impossibil- 
ity," she  told  herself.  "Still,  life  is  full  of 
them — and — if  he  wished  it,  ah,  if  only " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

When  Boris  Gourowsky  left  the  house  of 
the  Malkiels  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  No 
vehicle  was  in  sight,  so  down  the  Nevsky, 
all  along  the  Quay  and  over  the  Nicholaiffsky 
Bridge  he  trudged  to  the  "Wasily  Ostroff,  in- 
different to  the  cold,  the  blinding  snow  that 
pelted  his  face  like  sand,  and  the  gale  blow- 
ing in  wildly  from  the  Gulf  of  Finland. 

When  he  reached  his  lodgings  he  sat  down 
to  his  nightly  task;  a  letter  to  his  mother. 
Ordinarily  it  was  the  pleasantest  of  duties, 
but  on  this  occasion  he  got  only  as  far  as  the 
opening  phrase  of  endearment;  then  he 
paused. 

Sitting,  pen  in  hand,  he  pondered  how  best 
to  tell  her  of  Louboff,  and  her  music,  and 
how  also  he  came  to  make  her  acquaintance; 
but  the  more  he  pondered  the  harder  seemed 
the  formation  of  the  phrases  with  which  to 
express  his  own  ideas. 

There  was  absolutely  no  use,  none  what- 
ever, he  decided  at  last.  She  would  never 
understand,  never,  never.  She  would  think 
the  end  of  the  world  had  come,  that  he,  her 


70  THE    LEVELLER 

son  Boris,  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  a 
Jewish  family.  It  would  only  annoy  her, 
worry  her,  make  a  misunderstanding. 

No,  he  had  better  wait;  better  say  nothing 
at  all.  He  sat  going  over  the  events  of  the 
evening,  and  LoubofPs  lovely  face  in  all  its 
expressiveness,  its  haunting  melancholy,  its 
wistful  repose,  was  ever  before  him. 

His  letter  to  his  mother  had  brought  mem- 
ories of  his  home  to  him;  he  contrasted  it 
with  Louboff  's  home  and  found  it  for  the  first 
time  sadly  wanting.  He  wondered  how 
Louboff  would  like  Gourowsky.  He  fancied 
himself  showing  it  all  to  her,  walking  by  the 
lake,  where  the  lilacs  blossomed  so  beauti- 
fully in  spring  time.  He  thought  of  the  place 
in  the  scorching  summer,  when  acre  after 
acre  of  ripening  wheat  lay  golden  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  again  it  was  the  weird,  silent 
solitude  of  the  moonlit  woods  in  winter  time. 

The  house,  he  told  himself,  would  look  very 
poorly  furnished  and  uncomfortable  to  her. 
He  thought  of  the  old  square  pianoforte  in 
the  sitting-room ;  that,  he  decided,  would  have 
to  go,  and  a  grand  pianoforte  be  substituted 
instead. 

If  he  suggested  such  a  change,  how  would 
his  mother  take  it — his  mother,  who  practised 


THE  LEVELLER  71 

the  most  rigid  economy  in  order  that  she 
might  build  the  schools  his  father  was  so  set 
on.  Then  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  laughed  at 
himself  as  an  imbecile. 

"The  little  witch!  She  has  hypnotized  me 
with  her  music  and  her  beauty.  It  is  absurd, 
fatal;  what  am  I  thinking  of?" 

Outside,  the  wind  whistled  and  howled,  and 
he  listened  to  it  dreamily.  Then  a  vision  of 
Louboff  converted  to  his  faith,  of  Louboff 
a  bride,  his  bride,  came  before  him  and  he 
plunged  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Am  I  crazy,  or  what?"  he  asked  himself, 
horrified.  "It  would  kill  my  mother;  my 
father  would  turn  in  his  grave — Louboff  Mal- 
kiel,  Countess  Gourowsky!  A  Jewess  in  my 
mother's  place!" 

He  began  to  undress  in  a  hurry,  like  one 
who  tries  to  get  away  from  his  thoughts,  and, 
putting  out  his  light,  he  at  last  fell  into  a 
sleep  filled  with  dreams  of  Louboff  and  her 
music. 

Next  morning  when  Boris  found  the  un- 
finished letter  to  his  mother  and  remembered 
that  for  the  first  in  his  student  life  he  had 
disobeyed  her  commands,  a  great  wave  of 
remorse  swept  over  him. 

He  thought  of  her  far  away  in  the  interior, 


72  THE    LEVELLER 

far  away  from  the  joys  of  civilization,  sacri- 
ficing herself  completely  for  others,  without 
relaxation  or  amusement  or  even  comfort, 
and  when  he  recollected  that  her  one  pleas- 
ure, for  which  a  man  drove  daily  some  fifteen 
versts,  his  letter,  had  been  denied  her  through 
his  carelessness  and  selfishness,  the  recollec- 
tion caused  him  a  bitter  pang  of  remorse  and 
self-abasement. 

He  looked  up  at  the  care-worn  face  smiling 
benignly  at  him  from  her  portrait ;  the  glance 
of  the  gentle  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  his 
soul.  "And  all  for  a  woman  whom  I  only 
met  yesterday;  a  Jewess  at  that!  Only  be- 
cause she  is  young  and  pretty!"  he  thought 
ashamedly. 

"I  do  not  deserve  such  a  mother,'*  he  mur- 
mured to  himself  aloud,  while  a  thousand 
instances  of  her  kindness  and  thoughtfulness 
flitted  before  his  mind's  eye.  He  ran  over 
the  salient  events  of  the  dinner  of  the  pre- 
vious evening  at  his  uncle 's  house,  and  sitting 
down  he  wrote  a  detailed  account  of  the  per 
sons  he  had  met,  winding  up  with  news  of  the 
bitter  cold  and  the  terrible  snowstorm  that 
had  suddenly  fallen  on  the  city,  hoping  that 
the  last  item  would  account  to  her  for  the 
delay  of  his  letter. 


THE    LEVELLER  73 

Boris  then  turned  to  his  studies,  but  study 
and  himself  for  once  were  altogether  at  vari- 
ance. Calculations  and  mathematical  prob- 
lems swarmed  before  his  eyes,  a  meaningless 
jumble  of  figures. 

He  would  concentrate  his  interest  only  to 
find,  the  next  instant,  his  thoughts  wandering 
to  Louboff,  her  music,  or  their  digression  on 
the  Jewish  question.  He  made  his  tea 
stronger  than  usual,  smoked  cigarette  after 
cigarette,  left  his  books  and  began  pacing  up 
and  down  his  room,  all  in  an  effort  to  settle 
his  thoughts  and  control  his  ideas;  but  his 
efforts  were  futile.  Louboff 's  voice,  Lou- 
boff's  face,  Louboff 's  personality  would  not 
efface  itself;  it  followed  him  persistently, 
surrounded  him,  overwhelmed  him. 

He  tried  to  laugh,  to  reason  with  himself, 
but  thoughts  of  a  future  with  her  beckoned 
him  and  lured  him  in  spirit.  A  future  where 
the  other  half  of  him,  that  other  half  so 
dreamed  of  in  youth,  would  be  the  girl  he  had 
met  but  a  few  hours  previously,  the  Jewess, 
Louboff  Antonivna. 

The  more  he  thought  of  this  possibility  the 
more  the  dreamer  and  fatalist,  so  strong  in 
the  personality  of  all  Russians,  asserted 
itself.  "If  it  is  love,"  he  soliloquized,  "well, 


74  THE    LEVELLER 

then  there  is  nothing  to  be  done;  and  if  she 
loves  me " 

The  mere  idea  set  his  blood  afire.  He 
thought  of  her  in  her  pretty  abandon  when 
she  had  given  him  her  two  hands  to  kiss ;  he 
thought  of  her  as  she  had  been  when  stirred 
to  deep  emotion  by  the  loveliness  of  Chopin's 
music.  He  thought  of  her  as  she  might  be  if, 
loving  and  loved,  she  would  yield  herself  to 
his  embrace  in  their  betrothal  kiss.  Agitated 
beyond  control  by  this  thought,  he  tramped 
the  floor  of  his  little  room  heavily.  A  servant 
brought  him  his  breakfast ;  he  left  it  untasted. 
Then  he  began  to  count  the  hours. 

Someone  whom  he  was  afraid  might  be 
Micnel  let  himself  in,  and,  climbing  the  two 
flights  of  stairs,  knocked  at  his  door,  but  re- 
ceiving no  answer,  went  to  the  rooms  be- 
neath— MichePs  rooms. 

One  o'clock,  two  o'clock,  three  o'clock;  how 
the  hours  lagged.  At  four  o'clock  he  was  to 
meet  Louboff  at  St.  Isaac's,  and,  finally,  when 
the  clock  struck  the  quarter  past  three,  he  got 
into  his  heavy  military  coat  and  went  out. 

Once  in  the  keen,  frosty  air  he  felt  calmer. 

"Maybe,"  he  told  himself,  as  he  trudged 
along  in  the  snow,  "she  won't  be  the  same  as 
yesterday ;  maybe  I  will  wake  up  to  find  it  all 


THE  LEVELLER  75 

a  dream,  a  fantasy.  How  can  the  mere 
thought  of  a  woman  work  so  much  mischief, 
cause  such  havoc  in  one's  feelings?  Mentally 
and  morally  I  am  a  wreck.  I  neglect  my 
studies;  I  neglect  my  mother — the  best 
mother  of  all  mothers.  What  does  it  mean? 
I  am  not  myself;  I  have  lost  my  self-control, 
my  will  power;  I  am  as  one  fascinated,  be- 
witched, hypnotized;  all  the  teachings  of  my 
father  go  down  as  snow  before  a  fire.  I 
must  pull  myself  together.  I  must,  I  must,'* 
he  repeated  vehemently  to  himself,  and  then 
he  laughed.  "But  it  is  so  good,  the  feeling 
so  good,  so  natural,"  and  back  again, 
unhindered  and  untrammeled,  he  let  his 
thoughts  rove  to  memories  of  the  night  be- 
fore, singing  snatches  of  the  preludes  to  him- 
self as  he  went  along. 

He  was  waiting  in  front  of  the  great  cathe- 
dral when  he  saw  her  sleigh  turn  the  corner, 
and  at  sight  of  her  his  heart  began  to  beat 
more  rapidly. 

He  could  feel  the  warm  blood  mount  to  his 
face,  and  when  he  felt  the  soft  warmth  of  her 
gloved  hands  in  his,  as  he  assisted  her  from 
her  swathings  of  fur,  every  nerve  in  his  body 
thrilled  with  a  new  and  exquisite  pleasure. 

* l  She  is  lovelier,  lovelier  by  far,  more  ador- 


76  THE    LEVELLER 

able  than  I  thought,"  he  decided.  "Ah,  the 
world  well  lost  for  love!  I  love  her.  It  is 
really  love.  She  is  my  fate. '  * 

"Have  I  kept  you  waiting?" 

The  musical  voice  sounded  a  little  tired 
and  weary  to  his  ears.  It  brought  him  back 
to  earth. 

"No,  it  still  wants  a  few  minutes  to  four. 
The  service  has  not  yet  commenced." 

"You  will  tell  me  what  to  do — I  have  never 
been  to  one  of  your  services  ? ' '  she  said,  with 
a  tinge  of  alarm  in  her  glance. 

* '  Of  course,  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do, ' '  he 
whispered  gleefully,  and  then  they  passed  in, 
side  by  side,  to  the  splendor  and  solemnity 
of  the  vast  cathedral. 

Boris  bought  two  candles,  and  lighting 
them  from  the  sacred  taper,  handed  one  to 
her;  then  crossing  himself,  Russian  fashion, 
from  right  to  left,  he  prostrated  himself, 
touching  the  floor  with  his  forehead. 

Louboff  stood  by  amazed,  and  the  glance 
she  gave  him  was  one  almost  of  scorn. 

"Kneel,  Louboff  Antonivna,"  he  com- 
manded a  moment  later,  and,  obedient,  she 
knelt. 

Just  then  the  music  of  the  male  choir 
echoed  in  the  semi-darkness,  and  after  a 


THE  LEVELLER  77 

while,  Boris  led  her  forward  to  the  holy  gate. 
Here  they  took  their  stand;  Louboff,  when 
her  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  blinding  glare  of 
the  snow  outside,  got  their  focus,  taking  in 
the  luxury  of  color  with  delight,  all  the  while 
feeling  her  senses  beguiled  with  the  har- 
monies floating  dreamlike  about  her. 

The  music  of  the  men's  voices,  deep, 
sonorous,  penetrating,  unaccompanied  by  in- 
strument of  any  kind,  rose  and  fell  in 
cadences  of  exquisite  beauty. 

Louboff,  Voltairian  by  instinct  and  educa- 
tion, cynical  as  to  religion,  found  her  soul 
suddenly  bathed  in  a  sense  of  peace  and 
ecstasy,  greater  than  she  had  ever  known, 
different,  too,  in  sort  and  condition. 

She  caught  the  glitter  of  precious  stones  in 
the  sacred  picture^  the  sheen  of  gold  and 
silver  and  bronze ;  the  softness  of  lapis  lazuli 
and  marble.  The  flicker  of  countless  candles 
seemed  to  mesmerize  her. 

The  voices  of  the  priest  and  his  attendants, 
the  answering  chorus  of  the  singers,  the 
whole  wonderful  tableau  of  the  ceremonial 
caught  her  fancy  and  captivated  it. 

About  her  were  old  men  and  young  women, 
children,  monks  and  nuns,  many  with  beauti- 
ful faces;  all  in  attitudes  of  absorbed  devo- 


78  THE    LEVELLER 

tion,  and  over  all  somewhere  in  the  mystic 
beauty  of  the  wonderful  building  the  presence 
of  a  power,  unknown,  unrealizable,  almighty, 
beneficent,  gracious  and  just,  hovered  in 
majesty  and  made  itself  known  to  her. 

The  candle  in  her  hand  sputtered  and  shook 
because  of  her  emotion;  the  air,  heavy  with 
incense,  made  her  feel  faint.  All  at  once  the 
scene  seemed  to  fade  farther  and  farther 
away  and  an  impressive  silence  fell  on  the 
listening  crowds  as  the  sacred  doors  of  the 
altar  opened. 

"It  is  the  prayer  for  our  Emperor,"  whis- 
pered Boris  at  her  side,  and  his  face  was 
illuminated  with  an  emotion  that  transfigured 
it.  His  voice  brought  her  back  to  reality. 

"The  prayer  for  our  Emperor "  the 

words  fell  on  her  ear  like  a  knell.  Horror 
and  execration !  The  prayer  for  a  ruler  that 
she  loathed.  The  prayer  for  a  ruler  that 
oppressed  her  race  so  grievously.  And  she 
must  listen  to  it ! 

Her  blood  ran  cold,  her  heart  beat  madden- 
ingly, and  only  by  the  supremest  effort  did 
she  restrain  herself  from  rushing  out. 

A  priest  came  forward  in  the  stillness,  his 
gold  and  silver  garments  glittering  in  the 
candle  light.  Aloft  he  carried  the  sacred 


THE    LEVELLER  79 

volume,  and  in  a  deep  basso  that  seemed  to 
make  the  very  air  tremble  he  commenced  a 
long  recitative  while  the  people  prostrated 
themselves.  He  was  answered  by  the  choir, 
at  first  soft  and  sweetly,  then  in  motives  of 
triumph. 

The  service  was  over,  and  guided  through 
the  crowds  by  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  Lou- 
boff  found  herself  outside  in  the  darkness, 
grateful  for  the  cold  crispness  of  the  snowy 
air.  Around  the  cathedral  all  was  bustle  and 
confusion.  Sleighs  and  troikas  drove  up  with 
their  bell-bedecked  harness;  a  wonderful 
moonlight  lit  up  the  snow-covered  city,  and 
above,  in  the  dark  blue  of  the  sky,  innum- 
erable stars  twinkled  coldly  and  brightly. 

Boris  found  a  sleigh  and  handed  her  in. 

"How  did  you  find  it?"  he  queried,  as  he 
put  his  arm  about  her. 

"Don't — don't  ask  me  anything  now,"  she 
begged  nervously.  "I  want  to  think." 

He  acquiesced  wonderingly,  and  in  silence 
they  drove  to  the  house  of  Anton  Rubinstein. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

On  entering  Kubinstein's  study  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch  was  conscious  of  a  dim,  mys- 
terious interior  and  a  feeling  of  intense  awe. 
About  the  " wizard"  of  the  pianoforte,  or  the 
"demon,"  as  many  called  him,  strange  tales 
had  circulated  in  Eussia. 

In  their  sanest  moments  Boris  Alexandero- 
witch  was  aware  that  artists  were  queer 
creatures,  perverse,  unsatisfactory,  and 
whimsical;  but  press  agents  or  silly  friends 
had  spread  so  many  weird  tales  about  Anton 
Eubinstein's  temper,  his  fantastic  ideas,  his 
Tsar-like  haughtiness,  and  his  overwhelming 
personality  and  magnetism,  that  Boris,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  back  of  a  bent  figure  with 
elbows  on  the  writing  table,  brooding,  mel- 
ancholy, the  light  falling  on  the  leonine  head, 
so  picturesque  and  powerful,  experienced 
a  strange  thrill  of  fear,  the  thrill  of  one  who 
comes  face  to  face  with  something  immutable 
and  grandly  majestic. 

As  he  went  forward  he  felt  himself  an  in- 
truder and  an  outsider  before  the  shrine  of 

so 


THE    LEVELLER  81 

art,  and  his  presumption  at  being  there  con- 
fused him. 

"Is  it  you,  Louboff?  I  know  your  step,  do 
I  not!"  queried  the  great  artist  kindly,  with- 
out troubling  to  turn  around. 

"Yes,  Anton  Gregoriewitch,  it  is  I,  and  I 
bring  you  a  surprise — the  son  of  your  old 
friend,  Count  Gourowsky :  Boris  Alexandero- 
witch. ' ' 

Eubinstein  rose  at  once,  and  first  kissing 
Louboff  on  the  mouth,  the  privilege  of  an 
artist;  came  forward,  his  left  arm  about  her, 
and  extending  his  hand,  said  with  the  stately 
courtesy  so  characteristic  of  him  when  host 
in  his  own  house,  as  he  bowed  before  the 
young  man : 

"Boris  Alexanderowitch,  you  do  me  an 
honor;  your  distinguished  father  and  I  were 
old  friends,  and  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  to 
welcome  his  son." 

Then  releasing  Louboff,  he  came  closer  to 
Boris,  and  placing  his  two  hands  on  the  lat- 
ter's  shoulders,  said  quickly. 

1 '  The  image  of  your  father,  the  very  image. 
Gott!  how  time  flies.  Some  twenty  years  ago 
I  spent  a  summer  at  Gourowsky  and  you  were 
an  infant  in  long  clothes.  Bah  I  it  makes  one 
feel  old  and  old  age  is  the  curse  of  mortals; 


82  THE    LEVELLER 

the  curse  that  comes  to  us  all  with  time." 
Then  bluntly  he  demanded:  "And  how,  may 
I  ask,  did  you  two  meet ! ' ' 

"Why,  through  her  brother,  a  classmate  of 
mine,"  replied  Boris  quickly,  seeing  that  Lou- 
boff  seemed  taken  aback  by  the  question  and 
mortified  as  well.  Anton  Rubinstein's  sur- 
prise brought  home  to  her  the  social  gulf  ex- 
isting between  her,  a  Jewess,  and  the  aristo- 
cratic and  highly  connected  Count  Gourowsky. 

"Ah,"  said  the  master,  glancing  from  one 
to  the  other  questioningly ;  then  he  went  back 
to  his  seat  by  the  writing  table  and,  humming, 
drummed  on  the  green  baize  of  the  table  with 
his  fingers,  while  Louboff  talked  to  him  of 
various  musical  events. 

The  utmost  sympathy  seemed  to  exist 
between  master  and  pupil.  Once  he  kissed 
her  bare  arm  in  the  hollow  of  the  elbow, 
and  when  he  caught  Boris'  look  of  surprise 
and  even  displeasure,  the  great  man  smiled 
maliciously. 

"When  I  kiss  her  warm  young  flesh  I  think 
of  spring,"  he  said  musingly.  "Ah,  how 
wonderful  is  woman. ' ' 

A  guest  entered:  one  of  the  Grand 
Dukes,  and  behind  him  Markoff,  the  painter, 
some  half  dozen  followed  in  quick  succession. 


THE    LEVELLER  83 

As  the  doorbell  continued  ringing,  Eubinstein 
turned  to  his  guests  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  lucky  if  we  get  anything  to  eat,"  he 
said  with  serio-comic  gravity.  "My  man 
Matve  came  to  me  this  morning  to  know  if 
I  had  any  idea  how  many  I  might  have.  I 
hadn't,  so  he  said  as  the  weather  was  so  bad 
he  would  only  cater  for  twelve.  We  are  fifteen 
already,  and  if  some  half  dozen  others  ar- 
rive, and  they  may — it  still  wants  five  min- 
utes to  six — I  am  afraid  starvation  awaits 
us." 

"Oh,"  said  Louboff,  "your  cook,  Anton 
Gregoriewitch,  is  always  ready  for  an  emer- 
gency ;  we  have  never  yet  gone  hungry,  and  I 
know,  for  I  dine  here  several  nights  a  week, ' ' 
she  added,  turning  to  the  Grand  Duke,  who, 
much  to  the  annoyance  of  Boris  Alexandero- 
witch,  had  succeeded  so  far  in  monopolizing 
her  attention. 

A  few  minutes  later  Rubinstein's  solemn- 
faced  servant  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Your  Excellency,"  he  said,  bowing  to 
Eubinstein,  and  with  an  accent  on  the  '  *  Excel- 
lency"— a  title  then  recently  conferred  on  the 
great  Russian  composer  by  the  Tsar — that 
caused  Rubinstein  to  wink  knowingly  at  the 
Grand  Duke.  '  *  Dinner  is  served. ' ' 


84  THE    LEVELLER 

"Thank  God!"  ejaculated  Rubinstein  glee- 
fully, and  he  jumped  up,  ran  the  fingers  of 
each  hand  through  his  hair;  then  shook  his 
head  like  a  big  dog,  and  putting  his  ever- 
present  cigarette  case  in  his  coat  pocket,  went 
in  through  the  salon,  where  two  grand  piano- 
fortes stood,  to  the  dining-room.  Rubinstein 
led  the  way  with  the  Grand  Duke ;  the  others 
following  without  ceremony. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  Rubinstein  stood 
a  moment. 

"Your  Imperial  Highness,"  he  said,  bow- 
ing to  the  Grand  Duke,  '  *  you  here, ' '  pointing 
to  the  place  on  his  right,  "and  you,  Made- 
moiselle, here, ' '  he  added,  nodding  to  Louboff, 
and  indicating  the  place  on  his  left ;  then  turn- 
ing to  the  others,  he  said  with  a  comical  ges- 
ture and  a  laugh:  "Place  yourselves  as  you 
will.  I  dare  not  take  the  responsibility  of 
seating  such  a  distinguished  company.  Paint- 
ing or  music,  poetry  or  prose,  which  takes 
precedence?  Fight  it  out  among  yourselves, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  excuse  me.  I 
value  my  life  and  your  friendship,"  he 
added,  laughing  loudly  over  his  own  little 
joke. 

Boris  Alexanderowitch  was  the  first  to  step 
into  the  place  beside  Louboff,  and  with  a 


THE  LEVELLER  85 

merry  jest  the  others  seated  themselves, 
Bubinstein  at  the  last  moment  commanding 
the  painter  Markoff  to  take  the  foot  of  the 
table,  in  order  to  separate  two  singers. 

"Two  tenori,"  he  said  with  mock  terror. 
"Markoff,  you  must  separate  them  or  there 
will  be  bloodshed.  Markoff,  you  are  big  and 
burly,  I  beg  of  you  be  my  vis-a-vis. '  ' 

Contrary  to  Eubinstein's  fears,  and  as 
Louboff  had  predicted,  the  dinner  was  excel- 
lent in  every  respect.  Conversation  was  gen- 
eral and  ranged  over  a  variety  of  subjects: 
Tolstoi's  book  of  the  hour,  the  "Kreutzer 
Sonata,"  which,  having  been  proscribed  by 
the  Russian  censor,  a  copy  in  manuscript  had 
been  passed  round  among  the  author's 
friends,  and  having  been  read  by  Bubinstein 
and  several  of  those  at  the  table,  was  made 
the  subject  of  an  especially  hot  discussion. 

"What  rot  it  is,"  said  Bubinstein  empha- 
tically. ' '  Tolstoi  knows  as  much  about  music 
as  my  cook.  I  have  never  known  a  novelist 
who  could  write  intelligently  on  music,  and  if 
my  advice  were  asked,  it  would  be  that  the 
first  rule  all  of  them  ought  to  follow  is  to 
leave  music  alone." 

' '  Still, ' '  said  a  meek  voice  at  the  end  of  the 
dinner  table,  its  owner  a  mystic  and  follower 


86  THE    LEVELLER 

of  Tolstoi,  "the  psychological  question  is  ex- 
cellently and  beautifully  treated,  and  like  all 
his  works,  the  'Kreutzer  Sonata*  is  wonder- 
fully written. " 

"Bah,"  said  Rubinstein  contemptuously, 
and  with  a  quick  show  of  irritation, '  *  why  call 
it  'Kreutzer  Sonata?'  Nevsky  Prospekt 
would  do  as  well  and  have  as  much  meaning. 
A  work  like  that  is  vicious ;  hundreds  of  ignor- 
ant readers  will  be  misled  as  to  the  meaning 
of  one  of  Beethoven's  most  beautiful  works. 
Ah !  the  power  of  literature,  who  can  fathom 
it.  For  this  reason  this  MS.  of  Tolstoi's  is  a 
crime  against  art,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  agree  with  the  censor.  As  to  the  psy- 
chological question,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug 
expressive  of  great  disdain,  "well,  everyone 
to  his  taste ;  to  me  his  premises,  his  reasoning 
and  his  conclusions  are  ridiculous. ' ' 

Arbitrary  by  nature,  Eubinstein  had  a  way 
of  cutting  short  any  conversation  or  con- 
troversy that  worried  him,  and  turning  to 
Boris  he  began  to  ask  questions  about  his 
mother  and  her  work  at  Gourowsky. 

Suddenly  he  turned  to  the  table,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  on  the  Tolstoi  advocate,  he  said 
loudly:  "You  talk  of  Tolstoi,  you  call  him 
a  great  philosopher.  What,  may  I  ask,  has 


THE  LEVELLER  87 

he  done?  I  know  of  nothing  on  his  part 
greater  than  many  Russians,  looking  for  no 
recognition,  doing  nothing  but  their  duty, 
have  done. 

"Now,  here,"  he  said,  pointing  to  Boris, 
who  looked  up  startled,  and  finding  the  gaze 
of  all  bent  on  him  wonderingly,  grew  very 
red,  "here,  in  the  father  of  this  young  man  we 
find  a  truly  great  Russian ;  a  man  who  worked 
for  his  country  and  died  for  it.  I  speak  of 
Count  Alexander  Grourowsky.  Him  I  call  a 
patriot,  a  builder  of  schools,  a  man  who  gave 
his  time  and  his  fortune  to  the  greatest  of  all 
causes — the  cause  of  education." 

There  was  a  general  assent;  Rubinstein 
went  on  to  relate  incidents  worthy  of  eulogy 
in  the  life  of  the  dead  Russian,  and  hearing 
his  father  praised,  brought  tears  to  the  eyes 
of  Boris  Alexanderowitch. 

The  talk  drifted  to  education,  and  Rubin- 
stein, as  head  of  the  Conservatory,  bewailed 
his  difficulty  in  finding  students  willing  to  take 
positions  in  the  interior  or  Siberia. 

"No,  no,"  he  cried  angrily,  "they  huddle 
in  the  cities  and  starve,  half  of  them,  when 
they  could  do  good  elsewhere  and  be  well  paid 
for  it." 

"Still  can  you  blame  them?"  asked  the 


88  THE    LEVELLER 

Grand  Duke,  his  aristocratic  features  drawn 

in  a  faint  smile. 

"Surely  I  can  and  do,"  Eubinstein  retorted 
tersely  and  with  a  brusqueness  to  which  the 
Grand  Duke  was  evidently  unaccustomed, 
judging  by  the  shadow  that  flitted  over  his 
face,  to  be  replaced  instantly  by  an  expression 
of  haughty  placidity.  "He  who  cannot  sacri- 
fice himself  for  his  art  is  no  artist,  and  as 
Kussians,  the  musical  future  of  their  country 
should  be  of  paramount  importance  to  every 
musician. 

"We  are  only  in  our  musical  infancy,"  he 
continued  forcibly;  then,  pausing,  he  said  in 
a  lower  tone,  "the  infancy  of  a  giant.  The 
future  rests  with  us,  and  if  only  for  this  rea- 
son every  young  artist  should  be  ready  and 
willing  to  give  ten  years  of  his  life  to  mission- 
ary work. 

"Thirty  years  ago  St.  Petersburg  was  a 
musical  Sahara,  and  were  it  not  for  the  efforts 
of  our  beloved  Grand  Duchess  Helene,  and  the 
group  of  young  artists  she  inspired,  matters 
would  be  scarcely  better  to-day.  Now,  we  are 
leaders;  we  have  the  finest  conservatory  in 
the  world,  and  our  composers  compete  with 
the  greatest.  That  which  has  been  done  for 
St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  remains  to  be 


THE  LEVELLER  89 

done  for  each  of  our  cities.  The  people  are 
hungry  and  thirsty  for  music;  applications 
for  teachers  come  to  me  from  all  over;  ab- 
normal salaries  are  offered,  and  I  cannot  sup- 
ply the  demand  by  half.  Yet  it  is  rather  to 
the  advantage  of  young  artists  than  to  their 
disadvantage,  the  getting  away  from  a  great 
city,  away  to  the  wilderness;  there  they  can 
develop  their  gifts  undisturbed,  learn  to  rely 
on  themselves,  and  if  they  only  give  ten  years, 
why,  then  they  could  come  westward  with 
the  money  they  could  save  and  do  as  they 
please." 

"But,"  said  the  painter  Markoff,  with  a 
shrug  of  horror,  "it  would  be  as  bad  as  im- 
prisonment. You  want  martyrs,  Anton  Gre- 
goriewitch,  not  artists;  it  would  be  a  living 
hell." 

"My  dear  Markoff,"  said  Anton  Rubinstein 
earnestly,  "an  artist,  a  musical  artist,  carries 
his  heaven  with  him.  Give  a  pianist  his 
pianoforte,  a  violoncellist  his  violoncello,  a 
violinist  his  fiddle,  and  you  give  him  the  best 
life  has  to  offer." 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch, "  said  a  young  man 
suddenly,  whose  pale  face,  disheveled  locks 
and  dreamy  expression  denoted  the  artist 
at  once,  "I  will  take  that  post  you  spoke  of 


90  THE    LEVELLER 

to-day  at  Tobolsk,  and  I  will  take  it  at 
once.  I  will  try  to  live  up  to  your  teach- 
ing." 

A  flash  of  exceeding  joy  illuminated  Rubin- 
stein's bright  blue  eyes.  He  stood  up  at 
once. 

"Camarade,"  he  said  feelingly,  "I  drink 
to  your  health,  and  your  success ;  we  shall  all 
drink  to  your  health  and  your  success. ' ' 

For  a  few  minutes  the  young  man  was  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes,  as  those  at  the  table, 
following  Rubinstein's  example,  clinked 
glasses  with  him. 

"A  decision  like  that  deserves  an  order," 
said  the  Grand  Duke  cordially.  "Many  have 
got  it  for  far  less,  and  I  shall  see  that  you  get 
it,  Pavel  Petrowitch." 

A  burst  of  handclapping  greeted  the 
Grand  Duke's  statement. 

A  little  later,  Rubinstein  gave  the  signal; 
dinner  was  over,  and  they  trooped  back ;  some 
remaining  in  the  salon,  others  going  to  the 
study  where  Rubinstein,  from  preference,  al- 
ways sat. 

After  smoking  a  cigarette  quite  a  number 
left,  and  Rubinstein  was  just  about  to  sug- 
gest cards,  when  Pavel  Petrowitch  came  up 
and  stood  hesitating  beside  him. 


THE    LEVELLER  91 

"What  is  it,  my  son?"  asked  Rubinstein 
affectionately,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  his. 

' '  I  must  go  soon.  I  shall  have  to  catch  the 
train  for  Moscow ;  to  say  adieu  to  my  mother 
and  pack  up  my  things — but,  Anton  Gregorie- 
witch,  do  grant  me  one  favor,  I  beg  of  you; 
let  me  hear  you  play  just  once  before  I  go, 
to  carry  it  as  a  last  memory  to  the  wilder- 
ness.'.' 

Eubinstein  pouted  his  lips  like  a  child  in 
anger,  flung  the  hand  he  was  holding  away 
from  him  with  that  petulant  annoyance  that 
had  given  him  the  reputation  of  having  a  bad 
temper;  he  paused  as  if  about  to  say  some- 
thing, while  the  others  looked  on  expectantly, 
then  he  rose  smiling,  and  went  straight  to  the 
pianoforte. 

A  hush  fell  on  the  roomful  of  people ;  any- 
where and  everywhere  they  seated  them- 
selves. 

Gasping  at  the  audacity  which  prompted 
the  request  so  unexpectedly  granted,  for  Rub- 
instein disliked  playing  in  his  own  house, 
Louboff  ran  forward  to  open  the  pianoforte 
and  took  her  stand  a  little  behind  the  pianist, 
the  better  to  follow  his  pedaling  and  meth- 
ods, till  the  Grand  Duke,  seeing  she  was  with- 
out a  seat,  pushed  forward  the  stool  he  was 


92  THE    LEVELLER 

sitting  on  and  accepted  a  seat  from  someone 

behind  him. 

At  the  scratching  sound  over  the  polished 
floor,  Rubinstein  turned  impatiently  and 
frowned,  then  out  of  the  trancelike  stillness 
there  came  the  tones  of  most  searching 
beauty,  the  opening  phrase  of  Chopin's  Bal- 
lade in  F,  with  its  oft  repeated  first  notes,  its 
entrancing  harmonies  and  wild  sweetness  of 
melody. 

Once,  bending  his  head  backward,  to  Log- 
off, Rubinstein  whispered  gallantly  in  her 
ear: 

"Thou,  Louboff  dearest." 

The  subtle  compliment,  overheard  by  the 
Grand  Duke  and  those  nearest  the  pianoforte 
as  Rubinstein  intended  it  should,  sent  the 
blood  flying  to  her  cheeks  till  they  were  as  red 
as  the  rose  in  her  hair  which  Rubinstein  had 
given  her  at  dinner  time. 

"It  is  true,"  he  added,  without  a  pause  or 
break  in  the  loveliness  of  his  playing,  "this 
melody  is  you." 

Then  such  was  the  beauty  of  that  touch 
like  unto  no  other,  the  most  wonderful  and 
magical  gift — which  has  since  passed  into  a 
proverb — that  she  and  all  the  others  lost 
all  sense  of  time  and  place,  even  of  their  own 


THE  LEVELLER  93 

personality,  as  Bubinstein,  full  of  the  frenzy 
of  his  incomparable  art,  conducted  them  to 
realms  of  fancy  outside  things  earthly  and 
beyond  reason. 

The  room  was  only  dimly  lighted,  but  sil- 
houetted against  the  paneled  walls,  Bubin- 
stein's  massive  head  rose  strongly;  his  face 
pale  and  demoniacal,  his  eyes  half  closed,  his 
lips  compressed,  the  marvelous  fingers  obey- 
ing unerringly  the  dictates  of  his  extraordi- 
nary musical  instinct. 

The  pathos-laden  melody  of  the  Cantabile 
rose  and  fell,  now  loudly,  now  softly;  the 
harmonies  here  and  there  being  accentuated 
as  the  genius  of  the  player  fancied,  and  those 
who  heard  him  oftenest  knew  that  Bubinstein 
was  in  the  throes  of  one  of  his  most  inspired 
moments. 

His  fingers  seemed  rather  to  caress  than 
strike  the  keys,  and  the  very  soul  of  the  in- 
strument responded  passionately. 

The  beautiful  Cantabile  finished,  at  a 
tempo  that  took  away  the  breath  of  his 
hearers,  Bubinstein  dashed  into  the  maze  of 
chords  and  chromatic  passages  following  with 
a  frenzy  that  was  indescribable. 

The  pianoforte  became  an  orchestra  under 
his  fingers,  and  all  that  was  passionate  and 


94  THE    LEVELLER 

temperamental  in  his  nature  seemed  to  have 
burst  its  bounds.  The  Agitato,  the  most  poig- 
nant in  music,  passed  in  one  mighty  rush  of 
sound,  and  then  once  more  tender,  palpitating 
with  emotional  beauty,  wistful,  heart- search- 
ing, the  plaintive  Cantabile  sounded,  grew 
fainter,  still  fainter,  and  finally  died  away 
in  the  veriest  whisper. 

Eubinstein  waited  for  no  applause.  With 
head  thrown  back,  sardonic  of  countenance 
and  eyes  gazing  into  space,  he  commenced  to 
wander  rhapsodically  from  key  to  key  and 
at  last  began  to  play  one  of  the  Chopin  Ma- 
zourken.  His  audience  hung  on  each  note. 
From  mood  to  mood  he  passed,  now  grave, 
now  gay,  and  those  listening  found  the  epi- 
tome of  Poland's  wrongs,  Poland's  woes,  her 
sorrows,  her  greatness,  and  her  inimitable 
poetry.  Throughout,  Bubinstein  played  so 
beautifully  that  a  little  Countess  from  War- 
saw wept  silently. 

The  Mazourken  finished,  he  gave  them  the 
great  Sonata  in  B  minor,  the  stately  Polon- 
aise in  F-sharp  minor,  and  then  his  humor 
changing,  he  sought  relaxation  in  some  of  the 
Preludes,  passed  from  these  to  the  Berceuse, 
and  wound  up  with  the  Scherzo  in  C-sharp 
minor. 


THE    LEVELLER  95 

In  the  middle  of  the  latter  piece,  Louboff 
caught  sight  of  Matve's  head  in  the  inner 
room.  Stealthily  and  with  footfalls  as  light 
as  a  cat,  she  crept  there.  Matve  had  the  sam- 
ovar in  his  hand  and  was  about  to  bring  it  in 
when  she  motioned  him  to  take  it  back. 

''But,  barishnya,"  he  whispered  pleading- 
ly, "it  is  nine  o'clock  and  I  have  Anton  Greg- 
oriewitch's  strict  orders." 

''Hush!  Hush!"  said  Louboff,  and  she 
pushed  him  back  all  the  way  leading  to  the 
servants'  quarters.  "I  will  tell  you  when  to 
come ;  I  will  tell  you  when  he  is  ready. ' ' 

When  she  reached  the  salon,  she  looked 
anxiously  at  Eubinstein,  afraid  lest  the  evi- 
dent charm  under  which  Kubinstein  was 
laboring  so  grandly  might  have  been  broken, 
but  she  saw  he  was  oblivious  to  all  happen- 
ings; living  once  again  through  the  triumphs 
that  had  marked  his  appearance  in  every  city 
of  Europe. 

"What  a  pity,  what  a  great  pity,"  she 
thought  with  a  sigh,  "we  are  so  few  to  hear 
him!  For  less  than  this  people  have  gone 
wild  with  enthusiasm,  unharnessed  the  horses 
of  his  carriage  to  carry  him  on  their  shoul- 
ders through  the  streets  and  cheer  him  to  the 
echo." 


96  TEE    LEVELLER 

All  at  once  he  paused.  "Well,  sir,"  he 
asked  of  the  young  pianist,  Pavel  Petrowitch, 
"are  you  satisfied?" 

*  *  Satisfied  ?  More  than  satisfied,  as  I  have 
never  before  been  satisfied,  Anton  Gregorie- 
witch,  and  still  I  would  ask  a  favor.  Let  me 
hear  your  own  Barcarolle — the  Barcarolle 
in  G-major." 

Eubinstein  shrugged  his  shoulders;  then 
light  as  thistledown  floated  out  the  wonder- 
ful double  notes,  the  song  in  the  tenor  rising 
clear  and  strong,  triumphantly  beautiful  in 
its  expressiveness,  deeply  tender  in  its 
pathos. 

Over  Rubinstein's  mobile  face  as  he  fin- 
ished there  passed  a  shadow ;  he  put  his  finger 
to  his  lips  in  thoughtful  attitude,  then  he 
commenced  the  great  Wanderer  Fantasia  of 
Schubert. 

Tired  with  the  emotions  of  the  hour,  Loub- 
off  slipped  away  from  her  stand  in  the  door- 
way, and  with  a  smile  of  welcome  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch  made  room  for  her  on  the  lounge 
in  the  study,  over  which  a  picture  of  Lermont- 
off's  Demon  hung. 

A  worshipper  of  Schubert,  Rubinstein  went 
through  the  Fantasia  in  a  fashion  that  held 
his  listeners  breathless;  bringing  home  to 


THE  LEVELLER  97 

them  as  it  did,  in  piercing  accents,  the  in- 
effable beauty,  the  nostalgia,  the  heartsick- 
ness,  the  wistful  longing  of  a  composition 
unique  in  its  tone  painting. 

Slowly  to  all  assembled  the  seconds  laden 
with  their  divine  harmony  passed,  and  to 
many  it  seemed  as  if  the  beauty  thrust  upon 
their  tense  and  straining  nerves  was  more 
than  their  emotional  natures  could  stand. 
From  stage  to  stage  Kubinstein  led  them  on, 
and  when  he  finished  a  stillness,  prolonged, 
profound,  greeted  him  as  he  rose  from  the 
pianoforte. 

Eubinstein  himself  broke  the  spell. 

".Well,"  he  cried,  laughing  as  he  gazed  at 
his  audience,  huddled  together,  speechless 
with  delight  and  surprise. 

They  crowded  round  him  to  tell  him  of 
their  gratitude,  but  he  laughed  again  and 
waved  them  back. 

"I  played  for  myself  to-night,"  he  said; 
then  an  expression  of  ecstasy  came  over  his 
face  as  he  added  solemnly,  "Ah,  music, 
music!  You  painters,  and  poets,  and  writ- 
ers, you  give  us  only  part  of  things ;  we  musi- 
cians give  it  all.  The  final  word;  that — that 
alone  is  ours. ' ' 

A  clock  struck  the  hour  of  ten. 


98  THE    LEVELLER 

"Ten!"  he  said  incredulously.  "Three 
hours  of  music!"  Then  clapping  his  hands 
Eastern  fashion  he  cried : 

"Matve,  Matve!  Where  is  the  fellow? 
How  many  times  must  I  tell  him  I  drink  my 
tea  at  nine!" 

Just  then  Matve  appeared,  samovar  in 
hand. 

"Your  Excellency,  your  Excellency,"  he  be- 
gan, "it  was  the  barishnya,  she " 

"Yes,  yes,  blame  me,  Anton  Gregorie- 
witch,"  Louboff  cried,  running  up  to  him.  "I 
sent  Matve  away." 

Kubinstein  caught  her  in  affected  but  play- 
ful anger  and  crushed  her  head  against  his 
heart,  then  bent  and  kissed  the  top  of  her  head 
affectionately. 

"You  meddle  in  my  household  affairs,  you 
minx !  * ' 

Her  hair  caught  in  the  button  of  his  coat. 
Boris  Alexanderowitch  and  the  Grand  Duke 
rushed  to  her  assistance. 

"See,"  said  Rubinstein,  "what  your  vanity 
of  woman  does.  Wear  your  hair  short  like 
mine.  ' ' 

Some  time  later,  after  all  had  taken  at  least 
one  glass  of  tea,  and  several  more,  the  Grand 
Duke  stood  up. 


THE    LEVELLER  99 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch, "  he  said  bowing 
formally,  every  one  standing  up  with  him; 
"I  know  your  inflexible  rule:  bed  at  eleven; 
it  now  only  wants  a  quarter  of  that  hour,  so 
I  must  make  my  adieux."  Taking  his  host's 
hand,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  which  Rubin- 
stein tried  to  prevent,  but  the  Grand  Duke  in- 
sisted, and  as  Eubinstein,  as  is  the  custom, 
kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  the  former  said : 

"  Anton  Gregoriewitch,  thank  you,  and 
thank  you  again.  This  evening  will  remain 
in  my  memory  forever,  and  be  an  always  un- 
sullied source  of  delight  and  artistic  grati- 
fication. ' ' 

It  was  the  signal  for  a  general  movement 
of  separation.  Five  minutes  later  the  ante- 
chamber was  filled  with  departing  guests, 
Matve  helping  them  into  their  shoubas  and 
pocketing  his  pour  boire  with  grateful  alac- 
rity. 

Louboff  remained  to  the  last,  and  with  her 
Boris  Alexanderowitch.  The  latter  was  about 
to  put  on  his  cloak,  when  Eubinstein  said 
quickly:  "Don't  go;  wait.  There  is  still 
time,  five  minutes  yet,"  and  he  laid  his  open 
watch  face  upward  on  the  table. 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch  is  the  soul  of  punc- 
tuality," said  Louboff  smiling.  "His  day  is 


100  THE    LEVELLER 

divided  into  hours  for  this  and  hours  for 

that." 

"Don't  forget,  Louboff,  to  be  here  to-mor- 
row evening.  You  will  play  the  Kreutzer 
Sonata  with  Markowitch — everyone  wants  to 
hear  the  Kreutzer  Sonata  now,  since  Tolstoi 
discovered  it,  so  much  for  fame — and  if  there 
is  time  I  will  go  through  your  concert  pro- 
gram for  Berlin;  you  are  practicing  well,  I 
hope?" 

Before  Louboff  could  reply,  Eubinstein 
turned  to  Boris  Alexanderowitch.  "And  you, 
sir,"  he  said  cordially,  "do  not  forget  that  I 
am  always  at  home  for  dinner,  and  will  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you  as  often  and  whenever  you 
care  to  come  here." 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  eager 
young  faces  bent  toward  him ;  then  aloud  and 
as  one  who  speaks  to  himself,  he  ejaculated 
passionately:  "God,  what  would  I  not  give 
to  be  as  young  as  either  of  you!" 

"I "  said  Louboff. 

"We "  began  Boris,  searching  for  some 

remark  to  pass  off  the  awkward  silence  that 
ensued. 

"Come,  children,"  said  Rubinstein  with  a 
deep  sigh,  rising,  "one  minute  to  eleven."  He 
walked  with  them  to  the  door,  waiting  while 


THE  LEVELLER  101 

Matve  cloaked  them.  Just  as  they  were  leav- 
ing he  called  Louboff  back  and  whispered 
something  in  her  ear.  She  blushed  rosy  red, 
struggled  from  his  embrace  and  fled  to  Boris 
Alexanderowitch. 

Eubinstein  stood  laughing,  his  leonine  face 
lit  up  with  sardonic  glee  at  her  confusion. 

When  she  reached  the  landing  he  shook  his 
clenched  fist  at  her,  then  Matve  closed  the 
door,  they  could  hear  him  bolting  it,  and  the 
two  young  people,  feeling  very  much  excited 
and  unusually  happy,  descended  the  stair- 
case. 

"What  did  he  say,  Louboff  Antonivna?" 
Boris  asked  curiously. 

'  *  Oh,  I  cannot  tell, ' '  she  replied,  the  fading 
blushes  reappearing  in  her  cheeks  again.  "He 
_he » 

"What?"  insisted  Boris  coaxingly. 

"He  told  me  to  beware  of  you." 

1 1  To  beware  of  me  1 "  he  echoed. 

Louboff  put  her  hands  to  her  ears.  "Oh, 
hush,  hush,"  she  cried  in  distress,  then  she 
laughed  in  quite  an  hysterical  fashion  as  they 
went  out  into  the  street. 

The  air  was  bitterly  cold,  the  sky  clear,  the 
stars  bright,  and  the  moonlight  deeply  blue. 
Not  a  sound  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  nar- 


102  THE    LEVELLER 

row    Troitsky    Pereulok    where    Kubinstein 

dwelt. 

Boris  went  forward  and  throwing  off  the 
fur  coverings  hiding  a  huddled  figure  in  the 
bottom  of  the  sleigh,  the  only  sleigh  in  the 
street,  said  sharply: 

"Hey  there,  you!  What  do  you  mean,  my 
friend,  sleeping  here  and  your  poor  beast 
uncovered?  You  will  roast  in  the  hot  hell  for 
this,  you  hear  me,  I  tell  you  so.  A  night  like 
this  to  leave  your  beast  uncovered!'* 

The  iswostschik  jumped  to  his  feet,  stiff 
and  cold. 

"Uncovered,"  he  murmured,  just  catching 
the  last  word. 

"Yes,  and  in  this  fearful  cold;  fifteen  below 
zero,  at  least.  Have  you  no  heart  for  the 
dumb  creature  t ' ' 

"  Oh, "  said  the  fellow  stupidly.  ' '  Yes,  it  is 
cold,  but  Eurik  is  used  to  it." 

"Used  to  it!  Yes.  He  will  drop  dead  at 
your  feet  some  night  he  will  be  so  used  to  it." 

Until  the  poor  animal  had  thawed  out  his 
frozen  limbs  they  went  slowly  all  the  whole 
length  of  the  Troitsky  Pereulok,  but  as  they 
turned  into  the  Nevsky  Prospekt  and  neared 
the  Grand  Ducal  palace  of  Sergius,  the  ani- 
mal took  on  a  better  gait. 


THE    LEVELLER  103 

All  this  way  Boris  said  nothing,  but  at  the 
Anitchkoff  Palace,  the  residence  of  the  Tsar, 
Louboff  said  quickly  and  almost  petulantly : 

"What  is  it,  Boris  Alexander© witch?  Why 
so  silent?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  so  much  to  say." 
He  drew  her  closer.    "So  very  much,"  he 
added  in  French,  "and  yet  so  little,  Louboff 

Antonivna,  because "  he  paused,  trying  to 

straighten  out  his  thoughts,  "you  flurry  me 
so ;  you  have  bewitched  me. ' ' 
"Boris  Alexanderowitch,  you  jest!" 
Her  glance  was  frightened;  the  solemnity 
of  his  tone  had  done  this.    Her  whole  body 
trembled  beside  him ;  he  could  feel  her  breath- 
ing in  her  excitement. 

1 1  No,  I  am  in  earnest,  in  deadly  earnest, 
Louboff  Antonivna.  You  have  a  terrifying — 

no,  a  beautiful,  an  adorable  influence " 

"  I,  a  Jewess  ?    You,  eh — all  your  ideas ! '  * 
1 1  They  are  dead,  Louboff  Antonivna.    They 

"  he  tried  to  think  of  something  to  say, 

and  finding  nothing  in  his  confusion  of  spirit, 
bent  down  and  tried  to  catch  her  glance. 

Suddenly  he  knew  what  he  wanted  to  say, 
but  the  words  absolutely  refused  to  come  to 
his  lips.  It  seemed  as  if  some  spirit  influence 
kept  them  back,  froze  them,  ere  they  could  be 


104  THE    LEVELLER 

spoken.    The  look  on  his  face  told  of  his  de- 
sire. 

Dazed,  confused,  more  utterly  frightened 
than  ever  before  by  the  sudden  rush  of  happi- 
ness that  had  overtaken  her,  Louboff  gazed 
back  at  him,  and  the  memory  of  his  voice  was 
sweeter  to  her  ears  than  even  the  music  of 
Eubinstein. 

She  could  feel  the  warmth  of  his  breath  on 
her  face. 

"Is  this  real!"  she  asked  herself  ecstatic- 
ally. 

They  had  reached  her  house  on  the  Moika 
and  he  was  thinking  of  how  he  had  hesitated 
only  the  evening  before  about  entering  it. 

"Where  shall  I  see  you  to-morrow?'7 

If  she  had  doubted  before,  the  tone  of  his 
voice  and  its  intense  eagerness,  she  felt  con- 
vinced of  his  sincerity,  for  he  kept  her  hand 
in  his  as  they  crossed  the  entrance  hall. 

"Meet  me  in  St.  Isaac's  at  ten." 

Her  ready  acquiescence  enchanted  him. 

"Yes,  yes,  at  ten."  Then  he  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips  and  began  kissing  it. 

"Boris  Alexanderowitch,  I  hear  a  door 
open  above;  they  expect  me  to  come  up.  I 
must  go  alone." 

He  was  about  to  kiss  her  hand  again,  but 


THE  LEVELLER  105 

she  tore  it  quickly  away  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Michel  met  her  on  the  threshold  of  the 
apartment. 

"Well,  well,"  he  cried,  gazing  into  her 
lovely  face,  dazzlingly  beautiful  just  then 
with  its  confused  blushes  and  the  unearthly 
brilliance  of  her  large  Oriental  eyes,  his  own 
face  white,  pinched  and  excited. 

"What  is  it?"  she  faltered. 

"Did  you  find  out?" 

"What?"  she  gasped. 

"The  date  of  d'AnnenkofFs  departure?" 

"Oh,  Michel,  I— I  forgot!" 

An  oath,  loud  and  terrible,  fell  from  his 
lips. 

"You  traitor!  You  cursed  snake!"  he 
cried,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  hand  clenched 
threateningly  as  he  rushed  toward  her. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Tell  his  Excellency  I  have  come  on  im- 
portant business.** 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  the  day  dark  and 
gloomy  with  one  of  those  leaden  skies  which 
make  St.  Petersburg,  for  months  at  a  time, 
unutterably  sad  and  dreary,  driving  all  those 
who  can  get  away  to  the  sunny  skies  and 
warmth  of  the  Riviera  or  the  Crimea.  The 
hour  was  unusually  early  for  Russian  cus- 
tom: the  better  classes  scarcely  ever  rising 
before  noon. 

The  servant  made  a  low  bow  to  the  Gover- 
nor of  the  city — an  official  whose  word  is  law 
and  whose  mere  figure  strikes  terror  to  the 
hearts  of  the  lower  orders — and  having  re- 
moved his  Excellency's  sable-lined  shouba, 
the  man  showed  him  into  the  study  and  then 
went  to  find  Count  d'Annenkoff's  valet  to 
learn  if  his  master  was  awake  or  could  be 
awakened. 

"The  Governor  to  see  me !"  cried  the  Count 
incredulously,  as  he  glanced  at  the  timepiece 
nearest  his  bed.  "His  Excellency?  Good! 


THE  LEVELLER  107 

Tell  the  Governor  I  will  be  with  him 
directly. ' ' 

Count  d'Annenkoff  dipped  a  towel  in  per- 
fumed water,  drew  it  across  his  face, 
smoothed  out  his  hair,  wrapped  the  dressing 
gown  handed  to  him  about  his  portly  form, 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  while  his  man 
servant  drew  on  his  hose  and  slippers. 

All  the  time  he  was  whispering  to  himself. 
"What  can  have  happened?  Alexei  Alexei- 
witch  to  be  out  of  bed  at  this  hour!  Nine 
o'clock.  This  must  be  important  business." 
And  he  began  wondering  what  it  could  be. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  shaking  hands 
with  his  guest. 

"Why,  Alexei  Alexeiwitch,  this  is  a  charm- 
ing surprise.  Ah,  I  see  you  have  vodka.  Can 
I  offer  you  anything — some  breakfast?" 

"Thank  you,  no.  A  glass  of  tea  with  you, 
if  you  take  it." 

"Of  course."  And  the  servant  lingering 
at  the  door  went  immediately  to  fetch  the 
brass  urn  so  characteristic  of  life  in  Russia. 

"What  horrible  weather!" 

Count  d'Annenkoff  looked  up  sharply. 
Surely  his  guest  had  not  come  to  speak  of 
the  weather.  It  was  disagreeable  enough 
without  discussing  it. 


108  THE    LEVELLER 

"Yes.    Horrible,  horrible!" 

''It  will  be  a  miracle  if  Melba  can  sing  to- 
night. You  go,  of  course?" 

"Most  assuredly.  Who  would  miss 
Melba?" 

Then  the  Governor  began  chatting  of 
various  social  topics;  and  St.  Petersburg  is 
ever  a  seething  pit  of  gossip.  The  Minister 
of  the  Interior  heard  Him  patiently,  not  show- 
ing his  inward  curiosity  at  the  cause  of  so 
early  a  visit.  A  servant  made  tea  and  handed 
it  to  them,  lit  the  candle  on  the  writing  table 
so  that  the  two  men  could  light  their  ciga- 
rettes without  the  effort  of  striking  a  match, 
and  only  when  the  door  had  closed  behind  the 
footman  did  the  Governor  cease  gossiping. 

"We  are  alone?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  the 
door  leading  into  another  room. 

"Absolutely.  But  prevention  is  better  than 
cure,"  laughed  the  Count,  jumping  up  with 
alacrity  and  going  to  the  door.  "Abso- 
lutely," he  said  again,  as  he  closed  the  second 
door.  Then  he  went  to  the  big,  leather-cush- 
ioned armchair  by  the  table,  and  seating  him- 
self comfortably  therein,  began  to  play  with 
the  tassels  of  his  robe  de  cliainbre,  anxiously 
awaiting  what  was  coming. 

"I  came,"  began  the  Governor,  his  air  be- 


THE    LEVELLER  109 

coming  more  businesslike,   "on  account  of 
your  nephew." 

"My  nephew f  You  mean  Gourowsky? 
What  of  him?"  asked  the  Count,  astonish- 
ment showing  in  his  haughty  features. 

The  Governor  fumbled  in  his  coat  pocket 
for  some  papers,  which  he  laid  on  the  writing 
table. 

"It  is  anything  but  pleasant." 

The  Count  glanced  at  the  bundle,  then  he 
said  breathlessly:  "You  don't  mean  to  say 
he  is  implicated  in  the  Wasily  Ostroff  affair? 
You  cannot  mean " 

"I  am  afraid  so.  It  is  a  case  of  cherchez  la 
femme.  He  is  altogether  in  the  toils  of  the 
Jewess,  Louboff  Malkiel,  sister  of  one  of  the 
ringleaders.  Here  are  the  papers  setting 
forth  his  surveillance. 

"He  was  in  her  company  Tuesday  and 
Wednesday.  He  was  seen  speaking  to  some 
of  those  suspected  in  St.  Isaac's  Thursday 
morning.  He  sent  her  this  letter — a  copy,  of 
course — Thursday  night." 

With  a  hand  shaking  more  or  less  from 
agitation,  the  Count  took  the  letter  and  read 
as  follows: 
* '  Dearest  Louboff  Antonivna : 

"What  has  happened?    I  waited  for  you 


110  THE    LEVELLER 

three  hours  at  our  place  of  rendezvous  and 
am  overcome  with  apprehension  and  fear. 
What  prevented  your  coming?  I  also  waited 
outside  Rubinstein's  door  all  the  evening  ex- 
pecting you  would  go  there,  but  to  no  avail, 
and  now  I  sit  here  eating  my  heart.  What  is 
it?  What  am  I  to  think?  For  heaven's  sake, 
answer  this.  I  do  not  make  light  of  the  diffi- 
culties besetting  our  path,  but  I  can  assure 
you  every  pulse  of  my  heart  beats  in  affection 
for  you.  I  await  your  answer  with  impa- 
tience. Yours, 

"Boris." 

"All  this  means — what?"  Count  d'Annen- 
koff  raised  an  ashen  face  to  the  Governor. 

They  had  been  comrades  in  arms,  and  spent 
their  school  years  together  and  were  more 
like  two  brothers  than  friends. 

"I  fear,  only  too  plainly,  that  Malkiel  has 
succeeded  in  contaminating  his  mind  with 
revolutionary  ideas." 

"And  the  fool!  To  write  such  a  letter — 
such  a  letter  to  a  Nihilist!  Why,  Siberia  is 
written  across  it  in  letters  of  flame!" 

"Were  he  not  your  nephew " 

"And  these  Malkiels — why  are  they  not  in 
chains  ? ' '  demanded  the  Count  hotly.  ' '  What 
have  we  got  our  fortresses  for?  Ach!  The 


THE  LEVELLER  111 

accursed  Jews!  Why  must  our  holy  Russia 
be  burdened  with  them.  Aliens,  traitors, 
breeders  of  discontent ;  why  do  they  not  go  to 
their  Jerusalem !  Why  stay  in  a  country  that 
loathes  them!" 

''For  the  best  of  all  reasons:  What 
would  they  do  there?  On  whom  would  they 
fatten?" 

"Why,  I  repeat,  are  the  Malkiels  not  in 
chains  1 ' '  the  Count  inquired  angrily. 

The  Governor  lit  his  cigarette  noncha- 
lantly. 

"Haste  is  not  always  a  wise  handmaiden," 
he  began  sententiously.  "Many  more  than 
the  Malkiels  are  implicated  in  this  affair  and 
we  want  to  round  up  the  whole  herd.  Besides 
we  are  studying  their  methods.  Then,  too, 
we  still  lack  documentary  proof  against 
Michel  Malkiel — still  need  proof  against  those 
connected  with  him.  Your  nephew  is  a  fool, 
and  were  he  not  your  nephew,  as  I  was  going 
to  say  before,  he  would  certainly  be  in  chains 
in  the  Petro  Pavlovsky  fortress  now.  But 
this  Malkiel  is  a  very  different  fellow — a  cun- 
ning, crafty  plotter.  Two  of  my  men  are 
in  his  house;  they  examine  his  papers  daily, 
but  he  has  all  the  natural  wiliness  of  the  Jew. 
He  slips  through  our  fingers  in  the  moment 


112  TEE    LEVELLER 

when  we  seem  to  have  him  most  securely, 
and  he  can  do  this  principally  because  he 
has  such  a  clever  tool  in  the  person  of  his 
sister  Louboff." 

"And  who  is  this  Louboff?  Young,  of 
course?" 

"Yes;  more.  Young,  beautiful  and  a  very 
clever  pianist;  a  pupil  of  Kubinstein. ' * 

"Alexei  Alexeiwitch,  if  this  matter  comes 
to  the  knowledge  of  anyone,  I  am  ruined.  My 
nephew — faugh !  It  is  sickening,  and  it  comes 
— it  all  comes — because  of  my  sister  and  her 
philanthropy.  Educating  the  children  of  the 
peasant  and  neglecting  her  own  son.  What 
business  has  Boris  Alexanderowitch  over  in 
the  miserable  student,  Jew-infested  lodgings 
of  the  "Wasily  Ostroff?  What  business,  I 
ask?" 

The  Governor  puffed  away  at  his  cigarette, 
then,  removing  it  slowly,  he  made  a  gesture 
with  his  hands. 

"None  whatever.  The  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  take  him  away  from  there  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Anything  may  happen  any  min- 
ute. Our  men  have  Malkiel  pretty  well 
trapped.  His  surveillance  has  been  complete, 
and  the  hatchet  will  fall  when  he  least  expects 
it.  Get  Boris  Alexanderowitch  away;  send 


THE  LEVELLER  113 

him  across  the  frontier  for  a  time.  Do  what- 
ever you  think  best,  but  do  it  quickly." 

The  Governor  stood  up. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  Count  with  more  show 
of  perturbation  in  his  manner  than  the  Gov- 
ernor ever  remembered  seeing  before;  "you 
must  not  go  yet.  Another  glass  of  tea.  And 
this  thing :  tell  me  some  more  about  it.  How 
long  has  it  been  going  on?  Since  when  have 
you  been  forced  to  have  Boris  Alexandero- 
witch  shadowed?" 

"Only  within  the  last  few  days.  Before 
that  his  conduct  was  exceptional.  We  watched 
him,  of  course;  we  watch  all  of  them,"  said 
the  Governor  with  a  shrug.  "But  we  never 
found  anything — not  even  a  note  from  a 
woman — and  young  men  will  be  young  men, 
you  know.  He  seemed  the  student,  pure  and 
simple,  and  if  all  of  them  had  been  like  him 
my  sleep  would  have  been  easier.  But  you 
see,  even  the  best  of  them  fall.  Youth  is  so 
hot  headed  and  stupid.  I  was  simply  stag- 
gered when  I  got  these  papers  last  night. ' ' 

"Well,  I  will  act  at  once." 

"Good,  there  are  the  papers;  you  know 
what  to  do.  Destroy  them  if  you  see  fit.  Such 
things  are  best  destroyed.  I  will  give  you 
as  long  as  I  can." 


114  TEE    LEVELLER 

The  Governor  moved  to  the  door,  and 
Count  d'Annenkoff  saw  him  to  the  ante- 
chamber, where  a  footman  cloaked  his  depart- 
ing guest  carefully. 

"  Au  revoir,  Alexei  Alexeiwitch.  A  thou- 
sand thanks  for  your  courtesy. '  ' 

"Pas  de  quoi,  mon  ami.  I  regret  having 
to  wake  you  up  at  an  hour  so  unearthly." 

Count  d'Annenkoff  walked  back  to  his 
study  slowly,  and  having  given  orders  not  to 
be  disturbed  till  his  secretaries  came  at 
twelve,  he  sat  down  to  a  quick  consideration 
of  the  whole  matter. 

1  'Could  Alexei  Alexeiwitch  be  trusted  I 
Could  anyone  in  Eussia  be  trusted?"  This 
was  the  first  thought  that  presented  itself, 
and  it  formed  the  basis  of  his  reflections 
throughout.  Nothing  but  the  presence  of  the 
papers  left  behind  by  the  Governor  served 
to  allay  his  fears. 

That  he  was  surrounded  by  enemies,  po- 
lite of  mien,  suave  of  voice,  copious  in  the 
wiles  of  flattery  and  strategy,  all  awaiting  an 
opportunity  to  hurl  him  from  his  present  high 
favor  at  Court,  he  knew.  Just  such  a  chance 
as  this  presenting  itself  in  the  escapade  of  his 
nephew  Boris  was  exactly  what  they  were 
watching  for  and  would  surely  pounce  on 


THE  LEVELLER  115 

with  avidious  glee.  Long  years  of  diplomacy 
had  trained  the  Count  in  distrust,  and  had 
also  taught  him  the  uselessness  of  a  man  who 
had  fallen  from  grace  to  expect  the  smallest 
mercy. 

The  friendship,  therefore,  of  Alexei  Alexei- 
witch  had  not  touched  his  gratitude;  it  had 
only  alarmed  him. 

One  thing  above  all :  he  must  lay  his  plans 
carefully;  and  as  to  Boris,  he  certainly  must 
not  excite  his  suspicions  or  let  him  suspect 
that  Government  spies  were  in  the  secret  of 
his  plottings.  This  last,  he  told  himself, 
would  be  hard  to  manage,  but  he  felt  sure  at 
the  same  time  his  diplomacy  was  equal  to  the 
task. 

Count  d'Annenkoff  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
sister.  It  was  a  peremptory  command  that  she 
come  at  once  to  St.  Petersburg  and  that  she 
lodge  in  his  house;  one  of  the  apartments 
of  which  he  would  place  at  her  disposal.  The 
letter  also  contained  the  information  that 
Boris  had  a  flirtation  with  a  young  Jewess, 
the  Count  strictly  enjoining  his  sister  to  keep 
this  piece  of  news  to  herself,  and  more  espe- 
cially its  source. 

This  letter  Count  d'Annenkoff  was  far  too 
astute  to  intrust  to  transmission  by  post.  He 


116  THE    LEVELLER 

knew  the  workings  of  Russian  officialdom  too 
thoroughly.  He  rang  for  his  servant  and 
directed  that  one  of  his  confidential  chasseurs 
be  sent  for.  When  the  latter  arrived,  he 
handed  him  the  letter,  telling  him  to  take  the 
first  train  to  Gourowsky,  to  deliver  the  letter 
directly  into  the  hands  of  the  Countess,  to 
wait  till  the  lady  was  ready,  return  with  her 
and  act  as  her  courier. 

Next,  Count  d'Annenkoff  dashed  off  hastily 
a  note  to  Boris,  asking  him  to  call  at  his  earli- 
est convenience.  Another  chasseur  left  with 
this  note,  and  then  the  Count  rose,  satisfied, 
having  mapped  out  his  whole  plan  of  cam- 
paign. 

By  this  time  it  was  twelve  o'clock.  He 
saw  his  secretaries  on  several  matters  of 
State  business,  then  he  put  himself  into  the 
hands  of  his  valet  to  make  his  toilet  for  the 
day. 

This  was  elaborate.  After  a  bath  in  aro- 
matic herbs,  with  several  atmospheric 
changes,  there  was  the  masseur,  who  rubbed 
oils  and  liquids  into  his  body  for  almost  an 
hour ;  then  the  manicure  took  him  in  charge ; 
next  his  barber,  whose  sole  duty  in  the  house- 
hold was  the  shaving  of  his  master,  and  lastly 
his  valet  commenced  his  dressing. 


TEE    LEVELLER  117 

Dressed,  Count  d'Annenkoff  gave  several 
small  orders,  lastly  one  to  his  florist  and  con- 
fectioner for  the  forwarding  of  flowers  and 
candy  to  one  of  the  celebrated  actresses  of  the 
French  theatre. 

His  domestic  duties  being  finished  for  the 
day,  Count  d'Annenkoff  descended  to  his 
wife's  salon  to  await  the  announcement  of 
luncheon,  and  entertain  any  guest  she  might 
happen  to  have. 

It  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  him  to  find 
her  alone.  His  daughter  Vera  was  lunching 
out,  so  he  seized  the  occasion  to  confide  to  the 
Countess  the  plans  for  his  sister's  arrival. 
She  gave  but  one  ejaculation.  "Mon  cher 
ami!"  she  cried  slowly,  but  it  was  expressive 
of  keen  displeasure.  Then  she  sat  silent,  lis- 
tening to  his  explanations,  knowing  her  own 
displeasure  was  futile  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned. 

When  Count  d'Annenkoff  gave  an  order  in 
the  household  it  was  final.  So  far  as  social 
matters  went  he  never  interfered,  never 
sought  to  restrain  her  liberty  in  any  way.  He 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  her  good  taste 
and  in  her  good  sense. 

"It  hardly  befits  our  station,"  he  went  on 
in  his  bland,  formal  way,  "to  have  Boris 


118  THE    LEVELLER 

Alexandero witch  in  Wasily  Ostroff.  Several 
persons  have  commented  on  the  matter,  there- 
fore I  have  made  the  arrangements  I  speak 
of.  At  the  same  time  I  do  not  care  to  take 
upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  looking 
after  him.  Young  men  will  be  young  men, 
you  know,  and  it  is  best  his  mother  look  after 
him,  as  it  is  her  duty  she  should.  It  will  not 
put  you  out  any  way.  I  have  selected  her 
apartments  and  will  attend  to  the  getting  of 
servants,  carriages  and  all  necessities." 

*  *  She  will  necessarily  be  much  with  us,  and 
her  monde  is  so  stupid,"  murmured  the 
Countess  poutingly.  "You  will  find  all  the 
philanthropic  cranks  in  St.  Petersburg  dining 
at  your  table." 

'  *  Oh,  no, ' '  said  the  Count  quickly ;  '  *  I  shall 
provide  against  that.  She  will  have  her 
separate  menage  and  can  entertain  whom  she 
pleases." 

The  face  of  the  Countess  brightened.  She 
had  imagined  an  arrangement  of  a  much 
more  intimate  order. 

"Then  you  intend  she  remains  here?" 

"Yes,  as  long  as  Boris  is  a  student."  Then 
from  sheer  gratitude  at  her  ready  acquies- 
cence— he  had  expected  at  least  strongly 
voiced  disapproval — he  said  confidentially: 


THE    LEVELLER  119 

"There  is  much  disaffection  among  his 
classmates,  and  for  my  own  sake  I  intend  to 
keep  him  clear  of  all  suspicion  in  that  re- 
gard. ' ' 

"You  are  perfectly  right,  and  as  wise  as 
usual,  mon  ami/'  she  said,  with  a  flash  of  her 
still  beautiful  blue  eyes. 

Then  luncheon  being  announced,  they  went 
to  the  dining-room  together — a  state  of 
affairs  that  had  not  existed  in  a  twelve- 
month. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  note  from  Count  d'Annenkoff  reached 
Boris  Alexanderowitch  about  three  o'clock, 
and  he  tossed  it  aside  impatiently.  He  was 
then  in  a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  frenzy. 
Michel  had  not  been  to  his  lodgings  in  the 
house,  and  all  Boris'  efforts  to  hear  of  Loub- 
off  or  see  her  were  in  vain.  She  had  not  re- 
plied to  his  note  in  any  form,  and  he  had 
spent  the  morning  in  St.  Isaac's  on  the  mere 
chance  of  finding  her  there. 

Having  eaten  nothing  since  the  day  before, 
he  had  just  arrived  home,  tired,  hungry  with- 
out wanting  to  eat,  and  dejected  beyond  com- 
parison. The  more  he  thought  the  matter  out 
the  greater  became  his  confusion  of  mind. 

After  a  while  he  glanced  again  at  his 
uncle's  note. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you  as 
soon  as  possible.  Call  this  evening  before 
dinner  or  to-morrow  before  luncheon. 

"Annenkoff." 

Boris  wrinkled  his  brows.  What  could  his 
uncle  have  to  talk  to  him  about?  All  at  once 
a  horrible  suspicion  drove  the  color  from 

120 


THE  LEVELLER  121 

his  face,  and  he  stood  up  in  agitation. 

In  a  town  like  St.  Petersburg,  where  espion- 
age is  complete,  there  are  no  secrets.  What  if 
his  uncle  knew  of  his  affection  for  Louboif  1 
Boris  realized  his  power;  realized,  too,  that 
in  a  case  where  Count  d'Annenkoff's  own 
family  and  prestige  were  concerned  his  uncle 
would  use  this  power  ruthlessly.  What  if 
Louboff  had  been  taken  away — sent  to  Si- 
beria— to  Schlusselburg ;  murdered? 

He  clenched  his  hands  in  sudden  agony  and 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  his  narrow  room 
restlessly.  So  complete  was  the  jangle  of 
his  nerves  in  that  moment  that  a  knock  at 
the  door  made  him  cry  out  in  startled  alarm. 
It  was  only  a  servant  who  came  with  luncheon 
and  the  samovar. 

The  sight  of  the  familiar  and  rosy,  smiling- 
faced  woman  in  her  bright  dress  and  red 
and  white  dotted  kerchief,  tied  over  her  thick 
blond  hair,  relieved  his  feelings. 

"Thank  you,  Natascha,"  he  said  in  his 
normal  tone,  and  he  sat  down,  feeling  the 
color  come  back  to  his  face.  "You  haven't," 
he  asked  as  the  woman  set  the  table,  "seen 
anything  of  Michel  Antonowitch?" 

"No,  barin;  he  has  not  slept  here  in  three 
nights. ' ' 


122  THE    'LEVELLER 

She  went  out,  and  he  uncovered  the  viands 
before  him. 

' '  I  must  eat, ' '  he  told  himself.  ' '  After  all, 
why  should  there  be  any  coincidence  in  this 
strange  silence  of  Louboff  's  and  a  letter  from 
my  uncle?  I  am  simply  weak-headed  from 
loss  of  sleep  and  want  of  food.  I  will  eat 
now,"  he  concluded,  and,  sitting  down  to  the 
big  plate  of  soup,  he  finished  it.  Soon  he 
felt  better,  and  such  is  the  buoyancy  and  the 
need  of  youth  that  he  began  to  enjoy  his 
food  and  even  to  find  it  scanty.  He  cleaned 
everything  from  the  dishes — bread,  meat, 
vegetables — then  he  made  himself  several 
glasses  of  tea,  and  began  to  smoke,  for 
the  first  time  in  twenty-four  hours,  with 
pleasure. 

A  dozen  possible  causes  of  Louboff 's  si- 
lence presented  themselves.  She  might  be  test- 
ing his  affection ;  she  might  not  be  sure  of  her 
own  mind;  she  might  perhaps  be  ashamed. 
Boris  himself  reddened  at  the  ardor  of  his 
wooing,  at  the  meaning  and  passion  he  had 
put  into  his  kisses. 

He  certainly  had  been  effusive,  and  then 
she  was  an  artist ;  she  might  at  first  resent  his 
occupying  her  attention  in  any  degree.  A 
friendship  between  them  was  surely  unwise. 


THE  LEVELLER  123 

So  many  family  and  artistic  difficulties  pre- 
sented themselves. 

"Yes,  yes,"  thought  Boris;  "it  is  all  very 
awful.  No  two  in  all  Russia  could  face 
greater  obstacles  than  we:  class  hatred,  pre- 
judice, ambition,  family  pride,  all  are  arrayed 
against  us;  but  it  is  love,  and  that  in  itself 
says  everything  and  is  an  excuse  for  all 
things.  And  love,  if  it  be  great  enough,  can 
break  down  any  and  all  barriers.  She  may 
be  testing  me ;  she  may  be  testing  herself,  per- 
haps, but  there  is  no  escape — no  escape  for 
either  of  us. 

' '  One  thing,  however ;  I  must  not  let  myself 
go  as  I  have  in  the  last  few  days.  God  is 
good.  Time  unravels  all  tangles.'* 

He  got  up,  stretched  himself  with  a  feeling 
of  great  satisfaction,  and,  dressing,  went  out. 
He  reached  his  uncle's  house  as  the  clock 
struck  five. 

That  he  was  expected  was  evident,  for  he 
was  shown  at  once  to  his  uncle's  study,  where 
he  found  the  latter  with  a  mass  of  legal 
papers  before  him  to  which  he  was  affixing  his 
seal  and  signature. 

"Ah,  Boris!  Good-evening.  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  come  so  promptly.  You  got  my  letter, 
of  courseT' 


124  THE    LEVELLER 

"Yes,  mon  oncle." 

"Well,  take  a  seat.  I  want  to  have  a  long 
talk  with  you,  even  if  I  must  meanwhile  go 
on  with  these  tiresome  documents.  As  you 
will  soon  know  by  experience,  I  hope,  official 
life  means  much  more  than  gold  lace  and 
emoluments.  Make  yourself  comfortable ;  be- 
side you  are  the  cigars  and  cigarettes,  and  the 
liquer  decanters  as  well.'* 

Boris  sat  down. 

"Now,"  began  the  Count,  "I  am  aware  of 
the  bequest  left  you  by  your  father ;  I  am  also 
aware  that  the  Gourowsky  revenues  are  not 
what  they  were  when  my  sister  married  your 
father.  But,  as  you  know,  my  wealth  has 
been  steadily  increasing,  and  I  have  but  one 
daughter;  so  I  have  decided  to  make  you  an 
allowance. 

"I  have  been  greatly  pleased  with  your  in- 
dependence and  pluck,  in  finding  lodgings  in 
the  Wasily  Ostroff  and  living  there.  It  was 
very  noble  of  you,  my  boy,  considering  that 
you  had  the  money  to  live  otherwise,  yet  pre- 
ferred to  devote  it  to  your  dead  father's 
philanthropic  schemes ;  but  it  is  about  time  I 
came  forward. 

"Now  don't  thank  me,  and  do  not  flush  up 
and  tell  me  you  are  content  and  prefer  inde- 


THE  LEVELLER  125 

pendence.  Independence  is  a  great  thing,  to 
be  sure,  but,  my  dear  Boris,  which  of  us  is 
really  independent?  Not  one  of  us,  not  even 
the  Tsar  himself.  Now  you  are  of  my  own 
blood — my  heir,  in  fact,  if  anything,  which 
God  forbid,"  cried  the  Count  as  he  crossed 
himself  piously,  turning  to  the  ikon  before 
which  a  silver  lamp  was  burning,  "should 
happen  to  your  cousin  Vera — and  my  plan  is 
this ;  I  have  already  written  to  your  mother ; 
she  is  coming  here." 

"Coming  here!"  gasped  Boris. 

"Yes ;  she  will  be  here  by  next  week.  I  am 
having  an  apartment  fitted  up  in  the  house 
for  her — for  both  of  you — and  on  the  first  of 
each  month  my  steward  will  hand  you  a 
cheque  for  a  thousand  roubles. ' ' 

Count  d'Annenkoff  smiled  blandly  as  he 
looked  at  the  amazed  and  silent  Boris. 

*  *  You  see, ' '  he  went  on,  signing  the  papers, 
and  tossing  them  to  one  side  uninterruptedly, 
* '  everything  depends  in  St.  Petersburg  on  the 
keeping  up  of  appearances.  You  have  your 
career  before  you  and  it  is  doubtless  brilliant. 
Your  father's  name  alone  will  insure  that, 
but  it  is  only  in  youth  real  friendships  are 
formed,  and  I  want  you  to  keep  up  with  your 
own  set,  and  this  you  can  only  do  by  having 


126  TEE    LEVELLER 

a  few  roubles  in  your  pocket  to  spend  and  by 

spending  them. 

1 1 Women  do  not  understand  these  things; 
I  speak  to  you  as  man  to  man.  Now,  to-mor- 
row I  want  you  to  go  and  choose  your  horses 
— you  will  stable  them  here,  of  course,  with 
mine — and  if  you  do  not  find  a  thousand 
roubles  sufficient  for  spending  money,  why, 
you  can  always  come  to  me  and  I  will  be  your 
banker. ** 

Boris  listened  absently  as  one  in  a  dream. 

What  was  the  matter  with  life  suddenly? 
He  found  himself  in  love ;  here  was  his  uncle 
offering  him,  even  pressing  on  him,  a  small 
fortune,  and  his  beloved  mother  was  coming 
to  St.  Petersburg. 

"But,  mon  oncle,  how  can  I  ever  thank  you ! 
Such  generosity — I  do  not  deserve  it.  I  hardly 
feel  as  if  I  dare  accept  it." 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  Count's  bland,  well- 
modulated  voice,  and  to  Boris  it  sounded  far 
away  and  unreal.  "But  I  mean  you  shall.  It 
is  for  my  benefit  as  well  as  yours.  I  cannot 
have  a  nephew  over  in  Wasily  Ostroff,  so 
look  on  it  as  my  affair  entirely  and  that  the 
service  is  altogether  a  benefit  to  me  rather 
than  to  you. ' ' 

"But  this  goes  beyond  generosity.** 


TEE    LEVELLER  127 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  nephew;  it  is  only 
duty.  Now,  go  to  your  aunt,  and,  of  course, 
you  will  remain  to  dinner.  Alexei  Alexei- 
witch  and  some  others  dine  here." 

Boris  stood  up. 

"Yes,"  he  said  absent-mindedly.  Then  he 
caught  his  uncle  '&  firm  white  hand  in  a  cordial 
grasp  of  gratitude. 

"Well,  run  along,  my  boy;  I  am  very 
busy,"  the  latter  said  apologetically,  seeing 
that  Boris  still  hesitated.  Then  tapping  a 
bell,  two  secretaries  came  forward,  carrying 
between  them  a  well-filled  basket  of  letters 
and  public  documents. 

Boris  saluted  and  went  out.  He  made  his 
way  slowly  to  the  salon,  hardly  knowing 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  at  his  uncle's 
generosity. 


CHAPTEB  XI. 

During  dinner  Boris  could  not  prevent  his 
attention  continually  wandering  from  the 
subjects  discussed  by  those  around  him,  and 
his  neighbor,  a  well-known  society  woman, 
used  to  being  admired  and  amused,  was  quite 
annoyed  at  finding  his  remarks  so  often  at 
random.  He  was  placed  opposite  the  Gover- 
nor of  the  city,  and  more  than  once  he  found 
that  high  official  studying  him  intently. 

At  first  Boris  felt  somewhat  conscious  and 
confused  under  the  scrutiny,  then  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Alexei  Alexeiwitch  and  his  uncle 
were  very  great  friends,  so  perhaps  this 
bringing  him  to  the  house  was  a  purport  of 
further  good  fortune. 

Count  d'Annenkoff,  he  knew,  never  made  a 
move  in  the  game  of  life  that  was  not  thought 
out  and  reasoned  over.  The  Governor  had 
many  snug  berths  at  his  disposal ;  he  had  the 
reputation  also  of  liking  young  blood,  so  what 
more  natural  than  that  he  would  have  in  view 
isome  such  post  for  his  friend's  nephew! 

The  more  Boris  pondered  over  this  proba- 
bility the  surer  he  felt  about  it,  and  his  con- 

128 


THE  LEVELLER  129 

fusion  increased  under  the  searching  glance 
of  the  stern  blue  eyes  so  often  sent  in  his 
direction. 

He  excused  himself  as  soon  as  dinner  was 
over,  on  the  plea  of  an  engagement,  and,  tak- 
ing an  iswostschik,  was  driven  to  Rubin- 
stein's. Here  fate  seemed  against  him.  The 
ante-chamber  was  crowded  with  departing 
guests,  and  Matve  informed  him  that  Rubin- 
stein had  left  five  minutes  earlier  for  the  Con- 
servatory. 

Boris  went  away  from  Troitsky  Pereulok 
very  much  dejected  and  depressed.  Rubin- 
stein, he  knew,  if  any  one  could,  would  of  all 
others  be  the  one  able  to  give  him  news  of 
Louboff;  assure  him  as  to  her  health  and 
safety,  at  least.  Not  quite  knowing  what  best 
to  do,  he  walked  slowly  to  the  Nevsky,  and 
had  about  made  up  his  mind  to  call  openly 
on  Louboff — she  had  certainly  given  him  a 
cordial  invitation  right  before  her  brother — 
when  the  fear  of  causing  her  trouble  in  any 
way  decided  him  to  change  his  mind,  and  he 
hurried  home  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  note 
from  her  at  his  lodgings. 

When  Natascha  opened  the  door  for  him  he 
inquired  again  if  Michel  Antonowitch  was  in, 
but  Natascha  replied  in  the  negative.  Then 


130  THE    LEVELLER 

he  went  to  his  room,  and  was  further  disap- 
pointed by  not  finding  any  note  from  Louboff. 
As  usual  there  was  the  big,  fat  letter,  directed 
in  the  bold  handwriting  he  knew  so  well — a 
letter  from  his  mother — lying  on  the  pink 
blotting  pad  which  almost  covered  the  whole 
of  his  small  writing-table. 

Something  unfamiliar  in  the  arrangement 
of  his  table  made  Boris  wonder.  His  cigar- 
ette box  had  been  tampered  with  and  opened, 
and  much  of  its  contents  extracted.  Cigarette 
ash  was  strewn  all  over  his  papers,  and  some 
mathematical  problems  he  had  been  working 
out — or,  rather,  trying  to  work  out — that 
morning  were  scattered  and  disarranged. 

Taking  up  his  mother's  letter,  and  opening 
it,  he  found,  greatly  to  his  dismay,  that  it  had 
been  previously  opened  and  only  recently 
closed,  for  the  gum  on  the  edges  of  the  enve- 
lope was  still  moist  and  stuck  to  his  fingers. 

Boris  sat  up  straight,  startled  completely 
out  of  his  habitual  composure.  What  did  it 
mean?  Thieves,  or  something  worse?  He 
drew  his  breath  in  several  short  gasps. 

If  his  latter  suspicion  was  correct,  then  he 
understood  why  his  uncle  should  be  so  anx- 
ious to  get  him  away  from  the  students '  quar- 
ter. Then  that  quick,  keen  thrill  of  fear  that 


THE    LEVELLER  131 

shoots  through  every  Russian  breast — be  its 
owner  ever  so  brave  or  innocent — when  it  is 
a  question  of  police  surveillance,  smote  him 
badly. 

"But  I  am  a  Gourowsky!  They  could  never 
suspect  me,"  he  thought,  his  face  pale  with 
apprehension.  Then  he  looked  at  the  enve- 
lope again,  and,  taking  out  the  letter,  tried  to 
read  it  with  attention,  but  found  that  the 
words  and  their  meaning  failed  to  impress 
themselves  on  his  brain  in  any  intelligible 
sequence. 

Then  again  he  looked  through  it  to  find  any 
trace  of  his  mother's  intention  of  leaving  for 
St.  Petersburg,  but  found  instead  every  indi- 
cation that  she  would  be  busy  for  months  with 
her  work  at  Gourowsky. 

"I  must  get  out  of  here  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible," he  thought;  "that  is  certain.  What- 
ever it  is,  thieves  or  police  surveillance — the 
one  is  as  bad  as  the  other."  He  sat  down  to 
plan  out  his  packing.  "I  will  commence  first 
with  these, ' '  he  told  himself  as  he  opened  the 
drawer  of  his  writing-table,  where  a  mass  of 
papers  were  thrown. 

He  began  to  sort  them,  and  those  that  were 
to  be  destroyed  he  caught  up  and  was  about 
to  burn  in  the  stove  when  a  note  that  had 


132  THE    LEVELLER 

fallen  on  the  floor  attracted  his  attention,  and 
before  stooping  for  it  he  placed  the  bulky 
bundle  on  the  table  and  reseated  himself. 

He  read  the  note,  then  glancing  at  the  let- 
ters to  be  destroyed,  said  lazily: 

"Natascha  can  do  that  to-morrow.  If  I 
open  that  stove  I  may  not  be  able  to  close  it 
again,  and  besides  if  I  am  under  police  sur- 
veillance, it  is  as  well  not  to  leave  the  charred 
remains  of  paper  about ;  it  looks  too  much  as 
if  I  had  something  to  burn. ' ' 

A  sound  below  caught  his  ear.  It  was  the 
opening  of  the  outside  door.  Then  Boris 
could  hear  someone  come  upstairs  and  enter 
Michel's  room.  It  was  difficult  for  Boris  to 
overcome  a  desire  to  go  down  on  some  trivial 
excuse  and  see  him,  so  as  to  find  out  about 
Louboff.  It  would  be  very  natural  he  should 
inquire  about  her — no  more  than  politeness 
on  his  part — but  then,  he  reasoned,  he  had 
never  gone  of  his  own  accord  to  Michel's 
rooms,  and  if  there  was  any  unpleasantness 
about  Louboff  having  gone  with  him  to  Bub- 
instein's  and  there  might  be — Jews  were  just 
as  anxious  to  prevent  the  friendship  of  their 
people  with  Christians  as  Christians  with 
Jews — why,  it  would  only  make  matters  still 
more  disagreeable  for  her. 


THE    LEVELLER  133 

Then  Boris  remembered  that  Michel  and 
he  had  a  class  to  attend  at  eleven,  so  he  de- 
cided to  take  no  chances  but  wait  till  then. 
It  was  only  a  few  hours  more,  he  told  himself 
consolingly,  for,  looking  up  at  the  clock,  he 
saw  it  was  almost  two.  Then  he  went  to  bed. 

For  what  seemed  to  him  a  long  while  he  lay 
awake  listening  to  the  merry  jingle  of  the 
sleigh  bells  outside,  the  shouts  and  laughter 
of  roisterers  on  their  way  homeward;  then, 
as  in  a  dream,  Boris,  half  asleep,  heard  more 
sleigh  bells,  till  finally  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  the  whole  street  were  alive  with  their 
music. 

There  must  be  hundreds,  he  told  himself, 
waking  up.  Yes,  and  they  seemed  to  be  stop- 
ping right  outside  the  house.  He  could  hear 
carriage  wheels  crunching,  too,  over  the  hard- 
ened snow;  then  he  heard  orders  given  and 
knew  them  to  be  military  orders. 

He  suddenly  sprang  to  a  sitting  position  in 
his  bed.  There  was  a  sharp,  stifled  scream  in 
the  room  beneath  him — Michel's  room — a 
scuffle,  and  several  hoarse  cries  of  rage. 

Boris  jumped  out  of  bed.  The  noise  in  the 
street  grew  louder  each  moment,  and  then 
the  ominous  click  of  sabres  and  spurred  boots 
sounded  outside  on  the  landing. 


134  THE    REVELLER 

" Water!  water!  A  bucket  of  water  at 
once ! ' '  roared  an  excited  voice. 

Could  it  be  fire?  The  house  was  old  and 
built  of  wood;  a  very  tinder  box  for  flame. 

He  rushed  to  the  door,  unlocked  it,  but 
stopped  short  when  he  saw  the  landing. 
Soldiers  were  everywhere  about. 

*  *  What  do  you  want,  young  man  ?  Get  back 
to  your  room,"  said  a  stern  voice  at  his 
elbow,  and  a  gloved  hand  grasped  him  rudely 
by  the  arm  and  thrust  him  back. 

Boris  ran  at  once  to  the  window.  The 
house  was  built  back  in  a  garden  and  gave 
him  a  good  view  of  the  sidewalks. 

Soldiers  were  posted  all  about;  groups  of 
men  were  passing  and  repassing  constantly. 
Then  Boris  saw  a  slight  figure,  half  led,  half 
pushed  by  two  stalwart  policemen  down  the 
garden  path  and  up  to  a  waiting  carriage. 

It  was  Michel  Malkiel. 

A  pang  of  horror  and  even  of  pity  smote 
Boris,  much  as  he  disliked  his  classmate,  as 
he  saw  the  unfortunate  youth,  bent  and 
huddled  with  fear  and  terror,  uttering  piteous 
cries  of  despair,  roughly  thrust  within  the 
vehicle.  Then  the  carriage  drove  off,  and  the 
next  instant  Boris  turned  round  to  find  his 
privacy  invaded  by  several  uniformed  men. 


THE    LEVELLER  135 

"Your  name?" 

Boris  drew  himself  up  haughtily. 

"I  am  Count  Gourowsky,  Boris  Alexander- 
owitch,"  he  said  calmly. 

"Your  passport?" 

"In  the  drawer  of  my  writing  table." 

"Everything  in  this  room  belongs  to  you?" 

' '  Everything  but  the  furniture. ' ' 

"Officer,  take  all  the  papers." 

In  a  portfolio  Boris  saw  all  the  papers  he 
had  intended  to  burn  thrown  carelessly.  Then 
the  men  began  a  systematic  search  of  his 
room,  tapping  the  walls  and  the  floors  for 
places  of  concealment;  searching  his  clothes 
and  trunks,  and  even  opening  the  stove  to 
look  for  any  traces  of  charred  paper.  With- 
out a  word,  the  search  over,  the  men  left,  and 
Boris,  wrapping  his  dressing  gown  closer 
about  himself  and  covering  this  with  his  fur 
cloak,  sat  down  to  think  out  what  it  all  meant. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  chief  officer  entered 
unannounced.  Boris  saw  he  was  a  general. 

"Have  you  any  statement  to  make — any 
confession — Bori  s  Alexanderowitch  ? ' ' 

"//"  The  inflexion  of  scorn  in  the  single 
vowel  betokened  all  the  young  man's  amaze- 
ment and  anger. 

"Yes,"   replied   his   interrogator   calmly. 


136  THE    'LEVELLER 

"You;  whom  else?    Am  I  asking  questions  of 

your  stove  or  of  your  writing  table  ? ' ' 

"Most  assuredly  I  have  no  confession  to 
make,  and  any  further  questioning  of  that 
sort  will  be  resented  by  me,"  cried  Boris 
hotly.  "I  shall  see  my  uncle,  Count  d'Annen- 
koff,  about  this  in  the  morning." 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  then 
for  one  awful  moment  Boris  felt  his  heart  die 
within  him.  Was  he  not  altogether  in  this 
man's  power?  Was  it  wise,  he  argued,  to 
anger  so  potent  an  advocate  or  witness  for 
good  or  evil,  as  this  general? 

Yes,  it  might  even  mean  Siberia  for  him. 
"Show  me  your  company  and  I  will  decide 
what  you  are"  is  the  axiom  Russian  police 
have  implicit  faith  in,  and  here  he  had 
been  seen  in  Michel  Malkiel's  company;  he 
had  been  in  his  rooms;  visited  his  father's 
house. 

"Then  you  have  nothing  to  say?" 

Boris  could  feel  his  heart  beating  violently, 
but  curbed  his  anger. 

"No,  your  Excellency;  I  have  nothing 
whatever  to  say." 

"So  much  the  better,"  said  the  general 
lightly.  Then  he  said  affably  (he,  on  his  side, 
was  anxious  not  to  incur  the  enmity  of  a  Min- 


THE  LEVELLER  137 

ister  so  great  and  powerful  as  Count 
d'Annenkoff) :  " Spakoinee  notch." 

"Spakoinee  notch,"  echoed  Boris,  uncon- 
scious of  the  irony  in  the  good  wish  for  a 
peaceful  night,  as  he  bowed  and  returned  the 
military  salute. 

After  that,  Boris  heard  doors  shutting 
below,  the  heavy  tread  of  booted  and  spurred 
heels,  of  men  evidently  going  the  rounds  from 
room  to  room.  After  an  hour  or  so  all  was 
still,  the  noise  of  the  sleigh  bells  sounded 
again  and  then  passed  away,  leaving  the 
street  in  the  absolute  stillness  of  early  morn- 
ing. 

Boris  sat  on,  too  agitated  and  miserable 
even  to  light  a  cigarette.  How  was  it  possible 
that  he  should  not  have  suspected  it?  Michel 
Malkiel  a  Nihilist,  and  Louboff?  What  was 
she!  A  fugitive,  perhaps,  or  worse  still — a 
prisoner. 

How  else  could  her  silence  be  construed? 
In  utter  wretchedness  and  misery,  with  the 
memory  of  her  lovely  face  haunting  him, 
Boris  laid  his  head  down  on  his  outspread 
elbows,  and  sitting  the  rest  of  the  night  before 
the  writing  table,  dozed  from  time  to  time, 
only  to  waken  again  with  a  start  of  terror. 

Earlier  than  usual  Natascha  was  about. 


138  THE    LEVELLER 

He  could  hear  her  below  working.  Then 
slowly  she  mounted  the  stairs,  and  he  knew 
she  was  bringing  him  his  samovar,  for  Boris 
was  the  first  to  be  served,  being  the  earliest 
worker.  When  she  opened  the  door  her  round 
fat  face  showed  white  and  agitated. 

"Ah,  barin,"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  yes,  Natascha,"  he  said  soothingly. 

"Michel  Antonowitch  has  gone." 

'  *  I  know,  Natascha. ' ' 

"And  they  took  a  bomb  out  of  his  room. 
Oh,  the  poor  misguided  young  gentleman! 
Only  last  night  he  gave  me  a  rouble;  see,  I 
have  it  yet.  I,  myself,  saw  the  bomb,"  she 
continued  in  an  awed  whisper.  "I  brought 
the  pail  of  water  and  watched  them  put  it 
in  it." 

"I  know;  I  know,"  assented  Boris. 

"Ah,  barin,  you  have  not  slept  at  all?" 

"Very  little." 

"Nor  I;  nor  I.  It  is  a  sad  world,  barin. 
Drink  your  tea,  my  pigeon;  you  look  white 
and  weary." 

"Weary,  weary;  that  is-  just  it,"  he 
thought,  as  he  tried  to  smile  at  the  sympa- 
thetic peasant  woman,  so  young  yet  so  moth- 
erly, like  all  her  class.  "Yes,  weary  enough 
to  die." 


THE    LEVELLER  139 

Then  he  drank  his  tea,  and  roused  himself. 
"I  must  go  to  my  uncle's  house  without  de- 
lay, ' '  he  mused,  and  began  packing  his  books 
and  clothes  in  a  hurry. 

An  hour  later  a  knock  at  the  door  caused 
him  to  jump. 

A  man  servant  was  outside  when  he  opened 
it  and  handed  him  a  letter. 

The  quick  blood  rushed  to  his  face  when, 
on  opening  it,  he  found  it  signed  "Louboff." 

"Come  to  Eubinstein's  to-night  at  eight. 
He  will  be  out  at  a  concert,  but  wait  for  me 
till  I  come. 

"Always  yours, 

"LfOUBOFF." 

"At  last,"  cried  Boris  aloud. 

He  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again. 
Then  he  saw  the  man  watching  him,  evidently 
waiting  for  a  reply. 

"The  answer  is  yes,  and  that  I  am  de- 
lighted to  get  this  note,"  said  Boris,  delving 
in  his  pocket  for  a  fee,  as  his  voice  rang  out 
clear,  proud  and  strong  for  the  first  time  in 
three  days. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  hardest  task  Boris  had  ever  lived  up 
to  was  his  class  work  the  morning  following 
Michel  MalkiePs  arrest.  The  mathematical 
problem  swam  before  his  eyes,  and  every  time 
his  glance  fell  on  MalkiePs  empty  place  a 
feeling  of  horror  drove  all  else  from  his  mind 
as  he  thought  of  what  Louboff's  anguish 
must  be. 

Not  a  word  was  said  by  anyone  in  the  class 
as  to  Michel's  arrest,  but  the  moment  the 
lecture  was  over  the  students  slunk  away  one 
by  one,  careful  to  avoid  conversation;  dis- 
trust and  aloofness  in  the  manner  of  each. 

Boris  hurried  to  the  house  of  his  uncle,  and 
after  waiting  an  hour  in  the  ante-chamber, 
was  informed  that  the  latter  could  only  see 
him  for  a  few  moments. 

"Well,"  said  the  Count  genially,  after  his 
usual  polite  greeting.  "What  is  it,  my 
nephew?" 

Boris  hesitated. 

"Speak,"  cried  his  uncle  testily. 

"We  are  not  alone,  mon  oncle,"  said  Boris 
in  a  low  tone. 

140 


THE    LEVELLER  141 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  the  Count  dis- 
missed his  secretaries  and  then  in  a  minute  or 
two  Boris  related  the  events  of  the  night  be- 
fore and  his  indignation  at  being  so  uncere- 
moniously searched  and  questioned. 

"What  a  pretty  dissembler  we  have  here," 
thought  the  Count  with  gratification.  ' ;  Even 
knowing  the  facts  as  I  do  he  almost  convinces 
me." 

Then  he  commenced  in  his  easy,  quiet  way 
to  tell  what  he  knew.  His  voice  growing  more 
stern  as  he  proceeded.  Boris  could  feel  the 
blood  recede  from  his  heart  as  he  listened. 
After  all,  how  wise  were  the  kindly  warnings 
of  his  mother! 

"Boris,"  he  heard  the  Count  say.  "You 
were  with  Louboff  Malkiel  on  such  and  such 
a  day;  you  wrote  her  this  note" — and  then, 
relying  on  a  marvelous  memory,  the  Count 
gave  him  verbatim  the  contents  of  his  letter 
to  Louboff — "and  on  Thursday  morning  you 
were  speaking  to  well-known  revolutionists  in 
St.  Isaac's  Cathedral.  How  do  you  account 
for  that?  Your  story  is  plausible,  but 

"Malkiel  is  in  irons,  and  you — you  are  here 
before  me  now  rather  than  with  him  because 
you  are  my  nephew  and  I  commanded  it. 

"Now,  let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you  forever. 


142  THE    LEVELLER 

No  matter  what  your  sympathies  may  be, 
understand  that  you  cannot  cope  with  his 
Imperial  Majesty's  government.  We  know 
everything.  Your  private  lives  are  open 
books  to  us,  and  if  occasionally  Nihilism  does 
take  a  life,  how  many  lives,  may  I  ask, ' '  cried 
the  Count,  pausing  impressively,  "pay  the 
price  in  all  our  prisons  from  St.  Petersburg 
to  Siberia?" 

Boris  at  last  summoned  up  courage  enough 
to  allay  his  agitation,  and  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  reproach,  he  said  spiritedly: 

"Mon  oncle,  you  do  not  think  that  I,  Boris 
Gourowsky,  have  been  one  of  these  revolu- 
tionists, or  been  in  with  them — that  I  am  a 
traitor  to  my  Tsar  and  country?" 

Then,  seeing  that  Count  d'Annenkoff  con- 
tinued staring  at  him,  he  went  on,  and  without 
a  shadow  of  prevarication  told  the  whole 
truth  of  his  love  affair  in  all  its  naked  simplic- 
ity ;  how  he  met  Louboff  for  the  first  time  in 
her  brother's  room  by  mere  chance;  how  it 
had  been  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  Then 
he  told  of  his  visit  to  the  Corps  des  Mines ;  of 
her  playing  for  him  that  evening;  of  taking; 
her  to  St.  Isaac's;  of  the  dinner  at  Eubin- 
stein's  and  the  drive  home;  how  he  had  an 
appointment  with  her  the  morning  after  at 


THE    LEVELLER  143 

St.  Isaac's,  and  how  he  had  asked  some  men 
there  if  they  had  seen  her. 

The  Count  listened  attentively,  and  con- 
cluded that  Boris  was  speaking  the  truth. 

"Ah!  So  instead  of  Nihilism  I  come  on  la 
grande  passion,"  he  laughed.  "Your  first 
love  affair?"  he  questioned  sneeringly,  as  he 
glanced  up  at  the  handsome  youth  standing 
in  his  agitation  and  with  the  confusion  of  re- 
lating so  openly  his  heart's  secrets. 

"Yes,  mon  oncle,"  replied  Boris. 

"Well,  my  nephew,  it  is  only  another  proof 
of  how  careful  one  must  be  in  the  choice  of 
one's  associates.  As  to  this  love  affair,  that 
is  ridiculous ;  you  will  realize  only  how  ridicu- 
lous when  you  meet  your  next  divinity." 

Boris  shook  his  head  and  smiled  unbeliev- 
ingly. 

"Why,  my  boy,  how  many  such  affairs  do 
you  think  you  will  have  in  your  life?  Hun- 
dreds. I  am  surprised  only  that  you  have 
commenced  so  late.  At  your  age  I  knew  as 
much  practically  as  I  do  now.  I  have  gone 
through  the  routine  thoroughly,  and  I  know. 
The  first  seems  the  whole  universe,  the  second 
one  begins  to  find  out,  and  from  that  on  it  is 
only  a  matter  of  degree.  One  masters  these 
emotions  with  each  succeeding  attack,  and 


144  THE    LEVELLER 

you  only  discover  what  a  farce  it  is  when  the 
years  change  your  sentiments  and  you  find 
that  which  you  once  loved  madly,  once  could 
sacrifice  all  but  life  for,  grown  old  and  hor- 
rible and  agonizingly  unsympathetic.  Yes, 
you  will  have  to  shake  this  little  Jewess  from 
your  affections.  She  is  undoubtedly  a  Nihil- 
ist, a  tool  of  her  brother;  we  have  every 
proof  of  that,  and  being  a  good  subject  of  his 
Majesty,  I  know  you  will. 

1  'But  we  have  been  talking  half  an  hour.  I 
am  glad  to  have  your  statement.  I  will  see 
that  you  are  protected  from  all  danger.  Send 
on  your  things  here  at  once ;  your  apartment 
is  in  readiness  for  you." 

Boris,  feeling  himself  dismissed,  stumbled 
out  like  one  in  a  trance. 

' '  This  is  the  worst  yet, ' '  he  told  himself,  as 
he  hurried  back  to  his  lodgings.  "Louboff  a 
Nihilist !" 

For  a  long  while  he  could  neither  think  nor 
reason.  He  kept  repeating  the  words :  *  *  Lou- 
boff a  Nihilist"  over  and  over  again  to  him- 
self aloud;  yet,  try  as  he  would,  he  could 
neither  put  her  from  his  thoughts  nor  hate 
her. 

The  confusion  of  his  ideas  tortured  him. 
His  few  belongings  packed,  he  threw  himself 


TEE  LEVELLER  145 

exhausted  on  his  bed,  half  maddened  by  th<j 
knowledge  that  eventually,  unless  some 
miracle  intervened,  it  would  mean  their  part- 
ing. 

How  the  day  ever  passed  he  knew  not,  till 
at  eight  o'clock  he  found  himself  in  Rubin- 
stein's dimly  lit  salon  watching  for  her  com- 
ing with  a  mingled  agony  and  joy  that  seemed 
to  gnaw  at  the  very  vitals  of  his  being. 

"It  must  be  a  parting  forever,"  said  his 
reason  to  him.  "Between  Louboff  and  my- 
self, come  what  will,  there  can  be  no  part- 
ing," cried  his  heart. 

At  last  there  was  a  ring  at  the  doorbell.  He 
heard  her  greet  Matve  as  the  latter  removed 
her  cloak;  then  she  came  in  and  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  floor,  looking  at  him. 

Boris  waited  till  the  footsteps  of  Matve 
had  passed  through  the  dining-room  and 
down  the  long  passage  to  the  kitchen,  then  he 
came  forward. 

"Louboff."  There  was  a  wail  of  reproach 
and  suffering  in  the  deep,  mellow  tones  of  his 
voice. 

With  a  gesture  of  passion  that  unnerved 
him  completely,  she  put  her  two  hands  out  to 
him. 

"I  got  your  letter,"  she  began,  "and " 


146  THE    LEVELLER 

"You  did  not  answer  it." 

"Because  I  could  not.  I  will  explain 
everything.  I  will  tell  you  later. ' '  Then  she 
drew  nearer  to  him.  "Oh,  Boris,  Boris,  my 
friend,"  she  cried  in  anguish,  "do  not  desert 
me  now." 

His  arms  were  about  her  on  the  moment. 

"Not  now  nor  ever,  sweetheart!"  he  cried, 
his  arms  tightening  as  he  kissed  her  in  a 
paroxysm  of  delight  upon  finding  that  his 
heart  had  gained  the  ascendency  rather  than 
his  head.  Then  looking  down  into  her  startled 
eyes,  he  said  softly.  "Louboff,  I  love  thee — 
love  thee  better  than  heaven  or  my  soul. ' ' 

The  familiar  "thee"  made  her  head  swim 
with  delirious  joy;  the  passionate  protest  of 
the  whole  sentence  from  him,  Boris  the 
Orthodox,  first  elated  and  then  appalled  her. 

"Boris,  Boris,  this,  can  it  be " 

"Can  it  be?  Sweetheart,  I  speak  in  earn- 
est, in  deadly  earnest.  I  do  not  know  how  we 
are  to  arrange  it,  but  you  can  if  you  will ;  you 
must  marry  me." 

"I?    A  Jewess!" 

He  caught  her  hand  between  his  hands. 
1 1 Do  not  say  that !  Do  not  say  that !  Jewess, 
Nihilist,  anything — forget  all  I  have  said; 
only  listen  and  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that 


THE  LEVELLER  147 

I  love  you,  and  that  I  care  not  what  happens. 
You  can  make  hell  itself  my  paradise. ' ' 

"Boris,  I  am  no  Nihilist,  I  swear  it,"  she 

added  earnestly.  "I Ah,  let  me  tell 

you." 

She  led  him  to  a  divan,  and,  sitting  side  by 
side,  his  arm  about  her,  she  told  him  in  gasps, 
with  tears,  brokenly,  her  story  from  the  mo- 
ment she  had  left  him  the  night  he  had 
brought  her  home  and  Michel  had  almost 
struck  her  for  not  finding  out  the  particulars 
of  d'Annenkoff's  departure,  and  then  had 
kept  her  locked  in  her  room  till  his  arrest  had 
freed  her. 

"But,  LoubofF,  you  would  not  have  wormed 
the  secret  from  me,  would  you?"  he  asked 
pleadingly. 

"My  beloved,  you  yourself  are  the  best 
witness.  Did  I  try?" 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  cried  gratefully. 

They  began  to  talk  of  Michel's  arrest  and 
after  a  while  she  stood  up  in  her  agitation 
and  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulder. 

"It  is  folly,"  she  said  bitterly;  "pure  folly. 
The  idea  of  any  future  for  us  together  is  ab- 
solutely impossible.  Probably  they  will  exile 
me  and  my  father.  My  father  is  preparing 
for  it;  he  expects  it;  he  is  waiting  for  it.  I 


148  THE    LEVELLER 

know,  myself,  something  will  happen;  and 

you Ah,  Boris!     Your  career  is  here, 

your  home  is  here,  your  mother  is  here,  and 

I "     She  looked  up  at  him  yearningly 

and  then  burst  into  tears. 

"Louboff,  you  will  never  leave  me,"  he 
cried  hopefully.  "You  will  stay  as  my  wife. 
You  must  come  to  my  uncle;  you  must  tell 
what  you  know." 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  almost  screamed,  her 
eyes  dilated  with  horror.  *  *  Not  for  ten  thou- 
sand lives — not  if  Siberia  faced  me  to-night ! 
Buy  my  happiness  through  the  misery  of  an- 
other!" 

"Then  I  alone  must  manage  things,"  he 
cried  sturdily, ' '  and  believe  me,  I  can,  if  only 
I  know  that  you  trust  me  and  that  you  re- 
nounce Nihilism  forever." 

"I  never  was  a  Nihilist,"  she  said  quickly; 
"never  really  at  heart.  I  know  the  wrongs 
of  Russia  to  my  race,  and  I  ought  to  be — per- 
haps even,"  she  went  on  meditatively,  "I 
was,  till  the  day  I — I  met  you. ' ' 

Her  answer  enchanted  him;  his  face 
flushed  with  pleasure. 

"Louboff,  my  beloved,  nothing — nothing 
shall  part  us,"  he  murmured  rapturously. 
"If  necessary  we  shall  see  the  Tsar  himself, 


THE  LEVELLER  149 

and  you — you  will  come,"  he  added,  laying 
particular  stress  on  the  "will"  as  he  smiled 
tenderly  down  at  her,  "to  my  uncle  and  tell 
him  the  truth — just  tell  him  why  Michel 
locked  you  up.  You  are  no  Nihilist,  my  be- 
loved, and  I  will  not  have  it  that  this  dread- 
ful suspicion  overshadow  you." 

"What  would  he  think  to  see  us  come  in 
together?"  she  asked  smiling,  the  tears  glis- 
tening on  her  long  lashes. 

'  *  Think,  nothing.  He  knows  I  love  you.  I 
told  him  all." 

"All."  Her  voice  was  low  and  penetrated 
through  and  through  with  horror.  "You 
told  him  all?  My  God,  Boris!"  she  cried 
despairingly.  "Then  I  am  lost — I  am 
trapped." 

"Hush,  hush,  sweetheart,"  he  broke  in 
soothingly.  "You  are  unnerved." 

"Oh,  Boris,  you  will  see!  You  will  see! 
This  means  Siberia  for  me." 

The  prophetic  ring  in  her  voice  alarmed 
him,  and  the  sudden  terror  that  had  attacked 
her  communicated  itself  to  him. 

They  sat  looking  at  each  other  blankly, 
then  Boris  stood  up,  his  face  set  and  white. 

Along  the  passage  from  the  kitchen  they 
could  hear  the  tread  of  spurred  boots,  the 


150  THE    LEVELLER 

voices  of  men,  and  Matve's  shrill  outcries  of 

distress. 

His  grasp  tightened  on  her  hands.  Then 
the  curtains  leading  to  the  salon  were  rudely 
parted,  and  an  officer  with  two  policemen 
entered  and  saluted  them,  the  dry,  hard  tones 
of  his  voice  falling  like  a  knell  on  their  ears 
as  he  said  peremptorily: 

"Louboff  Antonivna  Malkiel,  you  are  my 
prisoner. " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

As  the  two  policemen  started  forward  to 
take  their  prisoner,  Boris,  with  an  oath, 
jumped  before  Louboff. 

"Swine,"  he  shouted  in  the  Russian  of  the 

people,  "lay  your  hands  on  this  lady,  and 
j » 

"Boris!" 

It  was  Louboff  who  spoke,  her  voice  cold  in 
its  sternness. 

The  mere  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  arm 
seemed  to  recall  him  to  his  senses  and  to  the 
need  of  caution. 

"You  will  serve  me  best  by  acquiescing  in 
this  thing,"  she  whispered.  "I  need  the  aid 
of  all  my  friends  now. ' ' 

Then  suddenly  she  broke  down  and  the  ter- 
rible emotion  of  the  moment  convulsed  her. 

Throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck,  she 
clung  to  him  and  cried  brokenly : 

"Boris,  Boris,  my  betrothed,  no  matter 
what  happens,  remember  that  I  love  you ;  that 
your  love  has  been  the  supreme  happiness  of 
my  life,  and  that  I  loved  you  the  moment  my 
eyes  first  met  yours." 

151 


152  ,THE    LEVELLER 

As  the  men  again  came  forward,  she  kissed 
him  on  the  mouth,  and,  turning  swiftly,  said 
with  a  sob,  nerve-racking  in  its  despair : 

"I  am  ready." 

Like  one  turned  to  stone,  Boris  stood  in  the 
ante-chamber,  looking  on,  while  Matve,  his 
eyes  swimming  with  tears,  cloaked  Louboff 
and  took  her  incoherent  message  for  Anton 
Gregoriewitch. 

Going  down  the  stairs,  she  turned  back  once 
more  and  gave  Boris  an  appealing  glance, 
then  the  stalwart  forms  of  the  two  policemen 
hid  her  from  view.  Matve  led  Boris  back  to 
the  salon,  and  he  sank  into  a  chair,  a  sudden 
paralysis  seeming  to  come  over  all  his  senses. 

Ten  minutes  later  Anton  Gregoriewitch 
burst  into  the  ante-chamber  in  his  usual  im- 
petuous fashion,  halting  dumbfounded  at  the 
attitude  of  the  young  man  and  tears  of  Matve. 
He  tossed  back  his  hair  and  blinked  his  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  thundered. 

"Oh,  your  Excellency,  your  Excellency — " 
began  Matve.  "Louboff —  Louboff —  has  — 
been  —  arrested,"  gasped  Boris,  his  voice 
strained  and  husky. 

"Arrested!" 

Rubinstein  stood  like  a  lion  at  bay.  Lou- 
boff, on  whom  he  counted  to  do  so  much 


THE    LEVELLER  153 

for  the  prestige  of  Russian  art!    Arrested! 

"Arrested?"  lie  repeated  again,  as  he 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  sternly.  Then 
he  began  to  pace  the  room.  Finally  he  came 
over  to  Boris. 

"Tell  me  things,"  he  commanded.  "Ex- 
plain. By  heaven,  they  shall  not  arrest  her — 
not  while  Anton  Rubinstein  lives!  She  is  a 
genius,  a  marvel ;  no  woman  pianist  of  to-day 
can  touch  her.  What  has  she  done?  Is  it  be- 
cause her  brother "  He  broke  off. 

Rapidly,  eagerly,  Boris  told  the  story  as  he 
knew  it,  and,  listening,  Rubinstein's  face 
underwent  many  changes ;  then  he  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"So,"  he  said,  dropping,  as  he  always  did 
when  excited,  into  German. 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  clapping  his 
hands,  he  said  to  Matve,  who  obeyed  the  sig- 
nal at  once : 

"Find  me  a  good  horse  and  an  intelligent 
iswostschik.  I  give  you  two  minutes." 

Boris  came  up  to  him. 

* '  What  can  I  do  T "  he  asked. 

"Nothing;  nothing,"  cried  Rubinstein. 
'  *  Stay  here.  Do  whatever  the  devil  you  please. 
You  are  the  cause  of  all  this — your  uncle,  at 
least." 


154  THE    LEVELLER 

Then,  seeing  the  blank  dismay  in  the  young 
man's  face,  Rubinstein  put  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  said  more  kindly : 

1 '  Come  along,  if  you  like. ' ' 

They  got  into  their  cloaks  without  help  and 
descended  the  staircase  rapidly.  Matve,  out 
of  breath  from  running,  stood  uncovered  in 
the  bitter  cold,  waiting  to  tuck  them  in. 

"God  guide  you,"  he  said  piously,  as  they 
started  on  their  way,  and  Boris,  removing  his 
cap,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  said 
"Amen"  fervently. 

Eubinstein,  listening,  smiled  sarcastically; 
then  he  directed  the  isivostschik  to  drive  to 
the  palace  of  the  Grand  Duke  Sergius. 

"I  go  there,"  said  Eubinstein  to  Boris,  as 
he  tightened  his  fur  collar  closer  about  his 
chin,  "because  it  is  the  nearest." 

In  every  Imperial  palace  of  the  city  Eubin- 
stein was  known  to  some  of  the  entourage. 
Some  of  them  were  friends;  some  of  them 
were  pupils,  some  old  acquaintances,  dating 
from  the  days  of  the  Grand  Duchess  Helene, 
when  Eubinstein  himself  held  a  post  at  Court ; 
but  all  were  devoted. 

Where  others  would  have  found  tedious  for- 
malities in  being  admitted,  to  Eubinstein  all 
palace  doors  were  ajar,  and  on  reaching  the 


THE  LEVELLER  155 

Sergius  residence  it  only  took  a  moment  till 
they  were  conducted  to  the  salon  of  chief 
lady-in-waiting  to  the  Grand  Duchess. 

The  former  came  in,  effusive  in  her  greet- 
ing, but  as  she  listened  to  Rubinstein's  mis- 
sion her  face  became  grave. 

"The  Grand  Duke  is  now  in  his  study/'  she 
said  at  length,  "and  it  would  be  impossible 
for  me  to  bring  him  your  message,  much  as  I 
would  like  to ;  but  I  will  see  some  of  the  gen- 
tlemen in  waiting  and  find  out  if  they  can  do 
anything. ' ' 

After  a  long  delay,  during  which  Boris  and 
Anton  Gregoriewitch  exchanged  perturbed 
glances,  an  important  personage,  the  military 
governor  of  the  household,  gold  lace  and  or- 
ders decorating  his  uniform  of  guardsman, 
came  toward  the  two.  It  was  his  first  meet- 
ing with  Rubinstein,  of  a  personal  nature, 
and  he  seemed  greatly  elated  over  it. 

After  a  few  minutes'  conversation  he,  too, 
looked  perturbed ;  then  he  said  gravely : 

"We  never  disturb  his  Imperial  Highness. 
Now,  if  she,  the  Grand  Duchess,  would  do, 
she  is  much  more  accessible  and  just  as  apt 
to  be  successful." 

Rubinstein  frowned. 

"No,  no,"  he  said  abruptly;  "this  is  a  mat- 


156  TEE    LEVELLER 

ter  that  presses.  With  her  Imperial  Highness, 
it  might  take  a  week — some  days,  at  any  rate 
— whereas  the  Grand  Duke  Sergius  is  the 
Tsar's  brother.  He  alone  will  do." 

The  Prince  bowed  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. Then  he  said  after  a  pause,  during 
which  Eubinstein  outlined  his  mission. 

"Well,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do.  You  have 
given  me  so  much  pleasure  in  my  life,  Anton 
Gregoriewitch ;  I  am  indeed  happy  to  serve 
you  in  any  way  in  my  power;  although,"  he 
added  warningly,  "if  I  know  anything  of  the 
Grand  Duke — and  I  have  been  in  his  service 
fifteen  years — he  is  about  the  last  person  to 
be  approached  on  such  a  mission." 

He  went  away  smiling,  apologizing  in  ad- 
vance for  any  delay  that  might  occur.  When 
he  finally  returned,  his  manner  was  gloomy. 

"Just  as  I  told  you,"  he  said  with  a  shrug. 
"This  is  what  his  Imperial  Highness  has  to 
say." 

Rubinstein  took  the  card  and  read  aloud 
hastily : 

"A  thousand  regrets  that  I  cannot  grant 
your  request.  Such  people  should  be  pun- 
ished. SERGIUS." 

For  a  moment  Anton  Gregoriewitch  looked 
about  him  frowning,  then  he  tore  the  card  into 


THE  LEVELLER  157 

fragments  and  threw  them  down  on  the  car- 
pet, before  the  horrified  eyes  of  the  two  royal 
serviteurs. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,"  he  concluded, 
bowing,  then  he  shook  hands  with  them  and 
went  out,  followed  by  Boris. 

For  a  while  Eubinstein  stood  on  the  steps 
of  the  palace,  glancing  impatiently  toward  the 
Anitchkoff  palace,  the  residence  of  the  Tsar. 
Finally  he  said  aloud : 

"No,  no;  better  try  the  Grand  Duke  Con- 
stantine.  He  is  an  old  friend." 

Two  obsequious  lackeys  of  enormous  size 
ran  ahead  as  Eubinstein  began  to  descend  the 
steps,  and  held  open  the  fur  covering  of  the 
sleigh,  assisting  him  most  politely. 

"Your  Excellency  wishes  to  go  where?" 

"To  the  palace  of  the  Grand  Duke  Con- 
stantine. ' ' 

There  was  a  crunch  of  snow,  and  the  feet 
of  the  horses  scattered  it  like  powder  in  their 
faces.  They  were  once  more  off. 

The  lackeys  of  the  Grand  Duke  Constan- 
tine  all  knew  Eubinstein,  for  he  was  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  this  palace,  and  he  was  ad- 
mitted without  delay  to  the  small  salon,  where 
the  Grand  Duke,  with  some  officers,  were  play- 
ing cards. 


158  THE    LEVELLER 

The  Grand  Duke  greeted  Rubinstein  with 
great  cordiality,  but  as  soon  as  Anton  Gre- 
goriewitch  made  known  his  errand  he  turned 
to  him  with  the  patient  reproach  of  manner 
one  would  bestow  on  a  petulant  child. 

"Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  he  said  gravely, 
"what  you  ask  is  utterly  impossible.  To  dis- 
turb the  Tsar  now,  I  could  not  dream  of  it; 
to-morrow  perhaps,  although,"  he  added  sotto 
voce, ' '  I  hardly  think  even  then — I  dare.  My 
sympathies  are  reported  as  ultra-revolution- 
ary at  Court,  and  it  behooves  me  therefore  in 
these  troublous  times  to  be  careful.  One,  you 
know,  has  not  only  the  Tsar  to  face;  there  is 
also,"  he  added,  bending  over  till  his  mouth 
almost  touched  Rubinstein's  ear,  "Pobiedo- 
nostseff,"  and  the  Grand  Duke  ended  with  a 
shrug  of  superb  disdain. 

Rubinstein  bit  his  lip  a  moment,  then  he 
said  almost  haughtily,  so  great  was  his  disap- 
pointment and  surprise : 

"Well,  your  Imperial  Highness  knows  best. 
A  thousand  pardons  for  disturbing  you." 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch, "  cried  the  Grand 
Duke,  jumping  up,  "you  never  could  disturb 
me ;  your  visits  are  always  an  honor ;  you  are 
a  big,  whole-souled  artist,  and  if  I  were 
Tsar " 


THE    LEVELLER  159 

Eubinstein's  handclasp  was  cordial,  and  the 
momentary  anger  in  his  face  died  away. 

Ten  minutes  later  Boris  and  Anton  Greg- 
oriewitch  were  entering  the  courtyard  of  the 
AnitchkofF  palace,  Eubinstein's  face  black  in 
its  pessimism  and  gloom. 

"The  Lord  Chamberlain?" 

' '  The  Lord  Chamberlain  is  not  at  home. ' ' 

'  *  Who  is  at  home ! ' '  Rubinstein 's  voice  was 
a  roar. 

"Why,  why,"  stammered  the  man,  "eh? 
Every  one." 

"Well,  tell  'every  one/  "  cried  Eubinstein, 
his  face  red  with  anger,  "I  want  to  see  him." 

A  few  minutes  later  an  officer  in  a  general's 
uniform  entered  the  room,  and  with  a  cry  of 
relief  Eubinstein  caught  him  by  the  two  hands 
and  embraced  him. 

"  General  Killieff!" 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch!" 

"You  are  just  the  man  I  want,  General.  I 
must  see  the  Tsar  at  once,  on  an  affair  of 
great  importance." 

A  mellow  laugh  rang  out. 

"You  are  joking,  master." 

"No,  I  am  in  earnest ;  in  deadly  earnest." 

"But  it  is  near  midnight." 

Eubinstein  had  taken  out  his  card  and  had 


160  THE    LEVELLER 

scratched   on  it  in  his   clear  handwriting: 

"Anton  Kubinstein  most  humbly  craves  an 
audience  of  his  Imperial  Majesty." 

General  Killieff  took  the  card,  read  it,  then 
laughed  again,  his  florid,  handsome,  Slavonic 
features  beaming. 

"You  want  me  to  have  this  presented?"  he 
asked  incredulously. 

"I  do." 

"Well,  Anton  Gregoriewitch,  I  do  not  know 
how  I  am  to  do  it — if  I  can  do  it — but  one 
must  humor  you."  Calling  an  aide-de-camp 
as  he  finished,  he  handed  the  latter  the  card 
and  ordered  it  delivered. 

Ten  minutes  passed  slowly ;  Rubinstein  was 
visibly  nervous,  and  the  conversation  was 
desultory  and  uninteresting. 

Then  a  pompous  footman  entered  the  room 
and  said  loudly : 

"His  Imperial  Majesty,  Alexander  Alexan- 
derowitch,  will  receive  General  Anton  Rubin- 
stein. ' ' 

Killieff  looked  astounded,  Boris  jumped  to 
his  feet  in  his  excitement,  and  Rubinstein's 
.face  flushed.  Preceded  by  the  lackey  with 
his  gold  stick,  the  trio  hurried  along  up  and 
down  staircases,  through  corridors,  salons, 
and  ante-chambers,  till  they  reached  what 


THE  LEVELLER  161 

seemed  the  farthest  end  of  the  palace,  the  cor- 
ridors of  which  were  thronged  with  pages, 
officers  in  order-decorated  uniforms,  and 
Tartar  sentries. 

They  entered  an  immense  salon,  and  here 
the  guide  beckoned  Rubinstein  alone,  Boris 
and  General  Killieff  halting  on  the  threshold. 

*  *  His  Excellency,  Anton  Gregoriewitch  Ru- 
binstein," announced  the  pompous  lackey 
loudly. 

''Anton  Gregoriewitch  Rubinstein,  Sire," 
said  a  general,  and  Rubinstein  went  forward 
into  the  presence  of  the  Tsar  of  all  the  Rus- 
sias. 

The  light  was  subdued.  Against  a  back- 
ground of  silver  and  Nile  green,  Boris  caught 
sight  of  a  charming  interior.  Flowers  were 
everywhere ;  great  pots  of  growing  roses  and 
azaleas.  The  Tsaritza  sat  reading  some  let- 
ters. She  nodded  pleasantly  to  the  Russian 
composer,  and  the  Tsar,  Alexander  III.,  a 
man  of  enormous  proportions,  wearing  the 
uniform  of  the  Preobragensky  regiment, 
turned  slowly  in  the  swivel  chair  before  his 
writing  table  of  ebony. 

"Oh,"  he  said  graciously,  as  Rubinstein 
bowed  low.  "What  is  it  that  presses  now, 
Anton  Gregoriewitch?  A  new  conservatory? 


162  THE    LEVELLER 

A  permanent  orchestra?    A  new  theatre?" 

"Sire,  the  life  of  an  artist. " 

"Indeed!"  Into  the  Tsar's  florid  face 
there  crept  caution,  and  his  blue  eyes  trav- 
eled up  and  down  the  well-known  features  of 
the  great  composer. 

"Be  seated  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do." 

When  occasion  required,  Eubinstein  had  a 
simple  eloquence  which  could  always  com- 
mand the  attention  of  his  hearer.  This,  with 
all  the  force  of  his  well-known  personal  mag- 
netism, seldom  left  him  in  any  lurch  for  long. 
As  he  began  his  story  the  Tsaritza  dropped 
her  letters  and  looked  up  to  listen.  The  Tsar 
kept  his  hand  on  the  open  page  of  the  book 
he  had  been  reading,  and  his  slow,  penetrat- 
ing glance  wandered  frequently  to  where  a 
doll  lay  on  a  sofa,  covered  with  a  silken 
shawl:  the  plaything  of  one  of  his  younger 
children.  Once  or  twice  he  stroked  his  thick 
red  beard  thoughtfully,  but  he  heard  Eubin- 
stein through. 

In  his  story  Rubinstein  had  softened 
particulars,  dwelling  on  Louboff's  youth 
and  her  immense  talents.  "Sire,"  he  said, 
"I  pledge  myself  for  her  future  behavior. 
I " 

This  seemed  to  amuse  the  Tsar. 


THE    LEVELLER  163 

"What  would  you  do?"  asked  his  Majesty 
smiling.  ' '  Use  the  rod ! ' ' 

Eubinstein  gave  a  sigh  of  great  relief. 

"No,  no,  Sire;  the  exhortations  of  good, 
every-day  common  sense  and  the  commands 
of  a  master." 

The  Tsar  looked  over  at  his  wife  for  in- 
spiration, and  caught  a  sympathetic  glance. 

'  *  Well, ' '  he  began  in  his  slow,  precise  way, 
' '  I  never  meddle  in  such  affairs — not,  at  least, 
without  consulting  some  of  my  people. ' '  Then 
turning  to  an  aide-de-camp,  he  said  quietly: 
"Telephone  for  his  Excellency,  Count  d'An- 
nenkoff ,  to  come  here  without  delay. ' ' 

Eubinstein 's  heart  sank,  and  his  expressive 
features  lost  their  look  of  recent  hopefulness. 
He  pursed  up  his  lips  and  knew  that  then  or 
never  it  was  his  task  to  use  all  his  powers  of 
persuasion.  He  looked  over  at  the  Tsaritza; 
then  in  lower  tones  he  commenced  the  recital 
of  the  love  affair  between  Boris  and  Louboff. 
All  the  world  loves  a  lover,  even  a  Tsar,  and 
Eubinstein  noted  that  both  the  royal  person- 
ages listened  with  renewed  interest. 

"Appearances  are  against  my  pupil,"  fin- 
ished Eubinstein  earnestly,  after  ten  min- 
utes* rapid  conversation,  "and  Count  d'An- 
nenkoff  will  doubtless  raise  many  objections. 


164  TEE    LEVELLER 

but,  Sire,  you  are  beyond  all  prejudice,  and 
I  ask  your  Majesty  to  grant  this  favor  in  the 
name  of  Russian  art. ' ' 

The  Tsar  smiled. 

"Your  story  interests  me,"  he  replied. 
"The  young  girl,  because  of  her  artistic  na- 
ture, is  doubtless  impressionable  and  easily 
led ;  but  you  have  spoken  so  much  and  so  elo- 
quently of  music,  you  make  me  long  to  hear 
some.  It  will  be  a  treat  for  the  Tsaritza  and 
myself." 

Rubinstein  rose  at  once,  his  face  beaming. 
He  was  in  the  humor;  more,  he  was  deter- 
mined to  play  as  he  had  never  played  before. 
He  opened  the  pianoforte  himself,  sat  down, 
and  let  his  hands  wander  over  the  keys  while 
waiting  until  it  was  time  to  begin. 

A  moment  later  and  the  ante-chamber  was 
crowded:  pages,  lackeys,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men in  waiting  moved  noiselessly  nearer  to 
the  door  of  the  Tsar's  salon,  and  then  one 
could  hear  the  clocks  ticking,  so  tense  was 
the  silence  as  Rubinstein  commenced  the 
G-major  Nocturne  of  Chopin. 

The  Tsar  kept  time  with  his  fingers  on  the 
writing  table  before  which  he  was  seated ;  the 
Tsaritza,  her  head  leaning  on  her  hand,  sat 
spellbound,  and  Rubinstein  played  with  all 


THE  LEVELLER  165 

the  magical  sway  at  his  command.  Under  his 
fingers  the  Nocturne  was  a  beautiful  love 
lyric,  and  as  he  played  it  brought  to  the 
hearts  and  minds  of  his  audience  a  sense  of 
awe,  of  pathos,  of  that  mysterious  law  which 
guides  and  governs  the  human  heart,  of  that 
power  which  has  made  and  wrecked  empires. 
That  power  before  which  all  laws  and  human 
reckoning  are  powerless. 

As  he  finished  with  the  two  last  chords,  ex- 
quisitely pianissimo,  yet  heard  in  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  outer  salon,  the  Tsar  sighed, 
then  he  smiled. 

"Ah,  how  beautiful.  What  a  gift  is  yours, 
Anton  Gregoriewitch ! ' ' 

"More,  more.  Do  not  stop!"  cried  the 
Tsaritza,  her  great  black  eyes  flashing,  and 
Eubinstein,  nothing  loath,  commenced  the 
C-minor  Nocturne. 

He  was  still  playing  when  he  caught  sight 
of  Count  d'Annenkoff's  perturbed  counte- 
nance in  the  doorway,  and  a  few  seconds 
later,  when  he  had  finished,  the  latter  entered 
and  was  announced  in  the  silence  which  en- 
sued. 

"Ah,  Count  d'Annenkoff." 

The  Tsar's  face  was  touched  with  deep 
emotion:  He  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in 


166  THE    LEVELLER 

shaking  off  the  thrall  of  the  master's  music. 
He  passed  his  hand  across  his  face,  and  be- 
fore '  Rubinstein  had  time  to  reach  his  seat, 
he  said  to  the  Count : 

"Annenkoff,  Anton  Gregoriewitch  has  come 
to  plead  for  the  liberty  of  an  artist,  Louboff 
Malkiel,  his  pupil.  I " 

He  paused,  looked  at  the  hands  of  the  crys- 
tal timepiece  on  the  table  before  him,  which 
had  passed  the  hour  of  midnight,  then  re- 
garding the  Count  fixedly,  he  said,  decisively : 

"I  have  granted  his  request.  Your  Ex- 
cellency will  see  that  this  is  attended  to  at 
once." 

The  Count  gave  one  quick  and  venomous 
glance  toward  Rubinstein;  the  latter  glared 
back,  then  the  Count  said  suavely  with  the  in- 
tuition of  your  true  courtiers : 

"Sire,  your  command  will  receive  my  in- 
stant attention.  The  young  woman  is  now 
undergoing  a  cross-examination  at  my  house. 
I  would  humbly  ask  that  this  proceed,  and," 
he  added  sarcastically,  "that  Anton  Greg- 
oriewitch attend." 

The  Tsar  put  up  his  two  hands.  "A  very 
reasonable  request,"  he  said  after  regarding 
the  two  men  a  moment.  "When  you  have 
finished  with  the  young  woman,  deliver  her 


THE  LEVELLER  167 

into  the  care  of  his  Excellency,  who  has 
pledged  himself  for  her  future  good  be- 
havior. ' ' 

Rubinstein  dropped  on  his  knees  as  he  took 
the  hand  the  Tsar  offered,  and  kissing  it,  said 
gratefully : 

4 'Sire,  my  humble  thanks  and  most  heart- 
felt gratitude  are  yours.'* 

"Rise,  your  Excellency,"  said  the  Tsar, 
with  his  slow  kindly  smile.  "You  are  Tsar 
of  a  greater  Empire  than  mine.  It  has  given 
me  great  pleasure  to  grant  your  request.  The 
Tsaritza  and  I  thank  you  for  the  treat  you 
have  given  us  in  your  beautiful  music." 

Ten  minutes  later  Boris  and  Rubinstein 
were  once  more  in  the  outside  freezing 
atmosphere,  joy  and  delight  in  the  hearts  of 
each. 

"To  the  Annenkoff  palace,"  said  the  latter 
gruffly,  and  side  by  side  the  two  sleighs — that 
of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  with  its  pranc- 
ing trio  of  thoroughbreds,  silver  harness,  and 
priceless  robes  of  fur,  and  the  humbler  one 
of  Anton  Rubinstein — pulled  out  of  the  court- 
yard and  hurried  down  the  Nevsky. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"We  have  outwitted  the  greatest  diplomat 
of  the  day,"  said  Rubinstein  with  a  chuckle, 
as  he  nudged  his  companion  roughly. 

"But  do  you  think  you  dare  ever  enter  his 
presence  again?"  asked  Boris,  with  an 
ominous  shake  of  his  head. 

"I  do  not  care.  I  snap  my  fingers  at  all 
their  scheming  and  intrigues.  Of  course, 
d'Annenkoff  is  not  the  man  to  forget  this.  I 
know  he  will  cross  my  path  in  many  things, 
make  it  his  business  to  do  so — especially  re- 
lating to  the  conservatory — all  of  them  know 
my  tendon  Achilles.  But  you,  how  can  you 
crow?  You  are  his  nephew.  I  would  not  like 
to  be  in  your  shoes,  Boris  Alexanderowitch ; 
no,  not  for  a  hundred  thousand  roubles !"  and 
out  on  the  stillness  of  the  frosty  night  air 
Eubinstein's  laugh  rang  heartily  and  loudly. 

"As  long  as  she  is  safe,"  said  Boris,  in- 
tense satisfaction  in  his  tones,  "I  do  not  care; 
I  am  satisfied.  What  happens  to  me  is  no 
matter." 

"So!"  The  expression  of  Rubinstein's 
face  changed  instantly  from  gleeful  banter  to 

168 


THE    LEVELLER  169 

surprised  alarm.  He  gave  his  companion  a 
curious  glance  and  said  quickly : 

"This,  then,  is  a  real  love  affair?" 

"Nothing  more  real,"  Boris  said,  smiling. 

"Your  intentions  are  honorable?" 

"Honorable!  Great  heavens,  Anton  Greg- 
oriewitch,  I  would  give  my  life's  blood  for 
Louboff  Antonivna." 

"By  that,"  Eubinstein  went  on  in  a  dry 
tone,  "you  mean  you  would  love  and  cherish 
her,  protect  her,  marry  her,  in  short?" 

"The  first  moment  possible." 

"Indeed!"  The  snarl  that  accompanied  the 
exclamation  was  malignant  in  the  extreme, 
then  a  sudden  passion  began  to  convulse  the 
features  of  the  great  composer. 

"And  it  is  for  this  you  think  that  I,  Anton 
Rubinstein,  have  deigned  to  beg  favors  from 
these  people — for  this  you  think  I  have  made 
an  enemy  of  Annenkoff — for  this  I  have 
played  the  lackey  to  Tsar  and  Grand  Dukes, 
to  courtiers  and  Court  fools — to  see  Louboff 
Malkiel  your  wife!" 

The  withering  scorn  of  Anton  Gregorie- 
witch's  tones  struck  Boris  dumb. 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch ! "  he  gasped. 

"And  you  think,"  went  on  the  infuriated 
composer,  "I  have  spent  days  and  weeks  and 


170  TEE    LEVELLER 

years  forming  this  talent — and  it  is  a  talent, 
the  greatest  I  have  found  in  Russia — to  see  it 
wasted  in  the  salons  of  Petersburg,  frittered 
as  a  pastime  to  tickle  the  ears  of  a  stupid 
aristocracy.  You  think  Louboff  Malkiel  will 
gain  by  becoming  Countess  Gourowsky?  " 

"  Anton  Gregoriewitch,  we  love  each 
other,"  began  Boris  pleadingly. 

"Love!  Bah,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  love, 
love?  I  do  not  speak  against  it.  Love  her, 
take  her  for  your  sweetheart,  rouse  all  the 
passion  in  her  nature  if  you  will,  but  you — 
you  talk  of  marriage!  That  is  out  of  the 
question,  absolutely  out  of  the  question. 
Young  man,  I  tell  you  marriage  for  an  artist 
is — death. " 

Like  a  cameo,  grim  in  its  stern  outline,  the 
clear-cut  features  of  the  young  Russian  shone 
out  against  the  blackness  of  his  furs. 

"You  tell  me  this?  You  dare "  he  be- 
gan. 

"Dare?  I.  Boy,  you  jest.  Yes,  I  dare.  I 
do  more — I  command  you  to  pour  all  your 
love  in  her  ear,  make  her  life  a  paradise  for  a 
time — and  then  forget  her.  Bring  the  best 
that  is  in  her  to  life,  make  her  love  you,  teach 
her  to  love  you — all  women  have  to  be  taught ; 
and  when  you  tire,  as  you  will,  women  who 


THE    LEVELLER  171 

are  artists  never  keep  love — they  give  too 
much — then  leave  her.  That  will  be  the  mak- 
ing of  her  as  an  artist. ' ' 

Boris  Alexanderowitch  sat  motionless, 
doubting  the  hearing  of  his  own  ears.  Rubin- 
stein had  worked  himself  into  one  of  his  un- 
governable rages,  and  all  that  was  satanic 
and  demoniacal  in  his  nature  was  reflected  in 
his  strong  and  powerful  features. 

''He  is  mad;  all  real  artists  are  mad," 
Boris  said  to  himself. 

Eubinstein  clenched  his  fist.  "You  hear, 
you  hear,"  he  cried  loudly,  having  waited  in 
vain  for  some  reply.  "Petersburg  is  full  of 
women — women  to  marry;  women  to  become 
the  mother  of  your  children ;  women  to  set  at 
the  head  of  your  household.  But  Louboff 
Malkiel  is  not  of  this  type ;  she  is  not  for  you ; 
she  belongs  to  the  world,  to  art ;  meddle  with 
her  career,  and  you  will  have  me  to  answer 
to." 

They  had  reached  the  Annenkoff  palace. 
Boris  stepped  out,  his  heart  beating  loudly, 
his  limbs  numb,  partly  with  apprehension  and 
nervousness,  partly  with  cold.  A  sudden  fear 
had  firm  hold  of  him. 

Would  they  succeed,  in  spite  of  all  his  reso- 
lutions, in  taking  Louboff  from  him?  Was 


172  THE    LEVELLER 

there  truth  in  what  Anton  Eubinstein  had 

pointed  out  so  brutally? 

"Well,  Boris,"  broke  in  the  suave  tones  of 
his  uncle's  voice,  "playing  the  part  of.  a 
knight-errant?  Come,  you,  too,  must  see  this 
seance  out.  Anton  Gregoriewitch,  you  will 
see  your  pupil  in  my  cabinet,  and  perhaps 
hear  something  that  will  make  you  regret 
your  thoughtless  zeal  of  this  evening." 

In  the  wake  of  Count  d'Annenkoff,  Boris 
and  Eubinstein  went  through  the  corridors, 
swiftly,  no  one  speaking. 

When  they  entered  Count  d'Annenkoff's 
study  they  found  it  alive  with  officials.  Lou- 
boff,  seeing  them,  gave  a  little  cry,  and 
crouched  back  in  her  chair. 

Boris  was  by  her  side  on  the  instant. 

"Courage,  Louboff,  sweetheart,"  he  whis- 
pered. "We  have  come  from  the  Tsar;  we 
have  your  pardon. ' ' 

All  in  the  room  rose  at  their  entrance,  but 
at  a  curt,  impatient  motion  from  the  Count, 
they  reseated  themselves.  Louboff  was 
ghastly  pale;  her  lovely  eyes,  half -veiled  in 
confusion,  sought  those  of  Rubinstein  ques- 
tioningly,  but  he  was  looking  straight  ahead, 
indifferent  as  a  sphinx  to  his  surroundings. 

Boris  seated  himself  where  he  could  see 


THE    LEVELLER  173 

Louboff  and  encourage  her,  taking  a  chair  be- 
hind his  uncle,  who  was  directly  facing  her, 
only  the  writing  table  being  between  the  two. 

"Well,  your  Excellency,  we  have  put  all 
the  questions  you  directed,  but  our  success 
has  been — er — poor,"  said  an  individual  in 
uniform,  who  sat  next  the  Minister  of  the  In- 
terior. 

The  Count  ran  his  eye  along  the  sheet  of 
paper  lying  on  the  table.  He  read  the  date 
of  Louboff's  birth,  her  birthplace,  the  name 
of  her  father  and  mother,  her  profession,  and 
then  followed  a  long  list  of  questions,  to  which 
was  affixed  the  reply:  "I  do  not  know."  Sev- 
eral of  these  questions  were  vital;  the  an- 
swers to  which,  had  they  been  given,  would 
have  afforded  the  Government  all  the  links 
needed  in  various  plots  formed  or  being 
formed.  The  Minister  frowned  as  he  read. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
company  in  general,  "has  evidently  told  us 
as  much  as  she  intends  to  tell,  and  it  is  there- 
fore a  waste  of  valuable  time  to  prolong  this 
examination  further;  nevertheless,  put  these 
questions  over  again;  General  Eubinstein 
may  find  them  instructive;  he  will  certainly 
find  sedition  comes  as  easy  to  some  of  his  con- 
servatory pupils  as  crotchets  and  quavers." 


174  THE    LEVELLER 

Rubinstein  said  nothing ;  he  had  lit  his  cig- 
arette and  was  smoking  placidly.  Then  quietly 
the  harsh  official  voice  read  out  the  questions 
to  Louboff,  and  Louboff  gave  again  answers 
identical  with  those  recorded. 

Count  d'Annenkoff  's  fine  features  were  sar- 
castic, then  at  the  close  he  said,  with  a  smile 
so  cruel  and  pitiless  it  made  Louboff  shiver : 

"Well,  General,  that  will  do.  I  will  now 
put  a  few  questions  myself. 

"Louboff  Antonivna,  do  you  know  Boris 
Gourowsky  1 ' ' 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  startled  surprise. 

"I  do." 

"Was  the  acquaintance  on  your  part  pre- 
meditated or  made  by  chance  I ' ' 

On  Boris'  ears  her  answer  fell  like  a  thun- 
derclap. 

"Premeditated,"  she  replied  slowly,  but 
the  blood  seemed  to  recede  even  from  her  lips 
and  her  eyes  to  dilate  in  the  sudden  anguish 
that  had  her  in  its  grip. 

"Bravo,  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  Count 
quickly,  and  in  sarcastic  encouragement,  "you 
are  evidently  recollecting  the  oath  you  had 
forgotten,  and  it  is  well,  for  we  have  letters  to 
your  brother  which  prove  this  premeditation 
and  prearrangernent." 


THE    LEVELLER  175 

Then  he  turned  and  gave  Boris  a  mocking 
glance. 

"And  your  object  in  this  acquaintance- 
ship ! ' '  went  on  the  steady  voice  of  the  Count, 
after  a  pause. 

"To  gather  information  for  my  brother." 
' '  You  are  a  Nihilist,  Louboff  Antonivna  1 ' ' 
"I  am  not.    I  do  not  think  I  am." 
"Well,  Louboff  Antonivna,  your  master, 
Anton  Gregoriewitch,  used  his  personal  influ- 
ence with  the  Tsar  to-night  and  gained  your 
liberty.    Some  of  the  questions  put  to  you  just 
now,  and  to  which  you  refuse  to  reply,  are 
aimed  at  Nihilists  and  Nihilism.    If  you  are 
not  a  Nihilist,  why  do  you  refuse  us  an  an- 
swer?" 

"Your  Excellency, my  brother  is  a  prisoner, 
and  a  Nihilist.  I  cannot  implicate  him.  My 
mouth  is  sealed  for  that  reason." 

"Ah."  They  were  all  looking  at  Louboff, 
admiring  her  fearless  loyalty. 

"Well,  suppose  now,"  went  on  the  Count 
slowly  and  deliberately,  "we  gave  you  back 
your  brother,  would  your  replies  be  other- 
wise?" 

She  gave  one  piteous  glance  around,  the 
glance  of  a  hunted  animal. 
"They  might,"  she  whispered,  after  long 


176  THE    LEVELLER 

hesitation,   during  which   all  eyes  were  di- 
rected toward  her. 

"If  so,  then  I  can  promise  you  your  brother 
will  be  with  you  to-morrow. ' ' 

The  Count  made  the  promise  resolutely, 
and  Louboff 's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  joy  and 
emotion. 

' '  Oh,  your  Excellency ! ' '  she  cried,  half  ris- 
ing in  her  seat,  as  she  stretched  out  her  hand 
in  thanks. 

The  Count  deliberately  ignored  her  over- 
ture. He  signed  to  the  General  by  his  side  to 
begin  once  more  the  list  of  questions. 

Boris  listened  with  a  bitter  sense  of  pain 
and  disgust.  The  room,  with  its  uniformed 
occupants,  the  beautiful  face  of  Louboff  full 
of  an  anguish  unspeakable  as  each  answer 
was  literally  wrung  from  her,  seemed  to  re- 
cede and  recede,  till  it  became  a  mere  blur  to 
his  vision. 

Finally,  when  it  came  to  her  giving  the 
name  of  Michel's  associates,  Louboff  balked 
and  found  her  memory  at  fault. 

Count  d'Annenkoff,  rising,  said  sharply: 

"Gentlemen,  I  will  not  detain  you  longer; 
these  proceedings  are  becoming  a  farce.  This 
girl  has  told  us  all  she  intends  to  tell ;  we  may 
be  satisfied.'* 


THE    LEVELLER  177 

"I  have  told  you  all  I  know,"  said  Louboff 
fearlessly.  "Much  more  than  I  would  were 
my  brother's  liberty  not  at  stake." 

"You  have  still  to  tell  us,"  said  Count 
d'Annenkoff,  looking  triumphantly  toward 
Rubinstein,  "for  whom  the  bomb  was  meant 
that  we  found  in  your  brother's  possession. 
Will  you  swear  to  us  you  do  not  know!" 

"Tell,  Louboff,  tell!"  cried  Rubinstein 
authoritatively,  as  her  eyes  sought  his  plead- 
ingly. 

"Will  you  give  my  brother  back  to  me!" 
she  demanded  passionately  of  the  Count. 

"We  will,  most  assuredly  we  will,"  he  re- 
plied, his  smile  more  sarcastic  and  disagree- 
able than  ever. 

"For  the  Tsar." 

A  shiver  of  real  horror  passed  over  the 
officials  assembled.  Rubinstein  lifted  his 
hands,  then  covered  his  face.  Louboff  alone 
was  standing.  Then  she  threw  back  her  head 
and  turned  as  an  animal  at  bay. 

"It  is  useless;  useless,"  she  cried,  her 
voice  ringing  out  clear,  musical  and  passion- 
ate. "But,  oh,  your  Excellencies,  what  other 
remedies  have  we?  You  have  tortured  us, 
goaded  us,  whipped  us  into  revolt;  we  are 
behind  the  age  as  a  nation,  and  the  blood  of 


178  THE    LEVELLER 

thousands,  the  miseries  of  generations,  will 
not  make  you  see.  To-day,  to-morrow,  my 
brother  and  millions  of  others  are  ready  to 
cry  'God  bless  our  Tsar,'  but  we  can  cry  it 
only  in  freedom,  mean  it  only,  when  despot* 
ism  ceases." 

"Louboff!" 

It  was  Boris  who  startled  her  into  silence. 

She  gave  one  glance  at  the  many  pairs  of 
eyes,  stern,  horrified,  wrathful  and  menacing, 
all  bent  in  her  direction,  then  she  fell  back* 
ward  in  a  dead  faint,  falling  into  the  arms 
of  Boris,  who  had  rushed  to  her  assistance. 

For  a  few  minutes  there  was  some  little 
confusion. 

Boris  poured  some  brandy  between  her 
closed  teeth,  then,  dazed  and  despairing, 
Louboff  revived. 

"Boris,  take  me  away  from  here,"  she 
sobbed  in  a  whisper. 

"One  moment,  sweetheart,  courage,  there 
are  formalities,"  he  pleaded  soothingly. 

Count  d'Annenkoff  took  up  a  paper,  signed 
it  and  gave  it  to  the  officer  who  had  arrested 
Louboff.  The  latter  read  the  paper  and  then 
said  loudly: 

"Louboff  Antonivna  Malkiel,  you  are  dis- 
charged on  the  undertaking  of  his  Excel- 


THE    LEVELLER  179 

lency,    Anton    Gregoriewitch    Rubinstein." 

"General,  your  undertaking  has  its  dan- 
gers," said  Count  d'Annenkoff  sarcastically. 

"Your  Excellency,  I  take  the  responsibil- 
ity, and  all  its  dangers,  most  gladly,"  Rubin- 
stein replied  coldly. 

Louboff  was  clinging  to  Boris'  arm,  glanc- 
ing from  face  to  face,  apprehensively.  As 
soon  as  the  perfunctory  adieux  were  made, 
Rubinstein,  Louboff  and  Boris  went  at  once 
to  the  ante-chamber  for  their  cloaks.  None 
of  them  spoke  till  they  reached  the  street, 
where  the  iswostschiks  gathered  round  them, 
underbidding  each  other,  and  clamoring 
loudly  for  their  patronage. 

The  trio  paid  no  heed.  Rubinstein  looked 
at  the  two  young  people  and  said  slowly  and 
sternly : 

"Louboff,  I  am  horribly  disappointed  in 
you.  What  business  has  an  artist  with  all 
this  intriguing?  You  were  led  into  it  by  your 
brother,  I  suppose,  but " 

He  got  into  the  sleigh  nearest  to  him  and 
the  expression  of  his  face  was  not  pleasant. 
"A  pretty  pother  you  have  raised,"  he  went 
on  petulantly.  "Here  it  is  almost  dawn.  I 
have  lost  four  hours'  sleep.  It  is  most  exas- 
perating. ' ' 


180  THE    LEVELLER 

Then  in  a  tone  of  command,  he  said  curtly : 
" To-morrow  is  Sunday;  I  must  break  in  on 
that  day  also  because  of  this.  Be  at  my 
house  at  ten  o'clock,  and  notify  Souroffsky 
to  bring  his  violin.  I  will  hear  you  both  in 
the  Kreutzer  Sonata." 

Without  waiting  for  any  reply,  he  said 
to  the  iswostschik:  "Troitsky  Pereulok." 

"  Anton  Gregoriewitch,"  pleaded  Boris, 
laying  a  detaining  hand  on  the  sleeve  of  the 
composer's  cloak.  " Think  a  minute.  Lou- 
boff  is  ill;  Louboff  cannot " 

Eubinstein's  blue  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"You  go  to  the  devil  and  cease  your  med- 
dling!" he  shouted  roughly  as  he  shook  off 
the  young  man's  hand,  then  in  a  kinder  but 
still  stern  tone  to  Louboff:  "Remember,  ten 
to-morrow. ' ' 

Together  Boris  and  Louboff  watched  the 
retreating  sleigh  with  its  huddled  figure  of 
the  great  composer,  then  she  said  gently : 

"Oh,  Boris,  never  thwart  him;  he  is  not 
used  to  it,  he  hates  it." 

"Talk  of  autocrats,"  muttered  Boris  sar- 
castically. "But  mind  you,"  he  flashed,  "if 
you  feel  ill  or  too  tired  you  won't  go.  I 
insist." 

"Why,  Boris,  I  would  go  if  I  were  dying," 


THE  LEVELLER  181 

she  replied  solemnly.  ''You  do  not  know 
Anton  Gr ego  rie witch.  He  never  forgives. 
Things  must  go  his  way,  or — or " 

Boris  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned 
to  the  still  clamoring  sleigh  drivers. 

Once  inside  the  sleigh,  Louboff  closed  her 
eyes  and  did  not  speak  for  a  few  minutes; 
finally  she  turned  to  him,  her  face  white  and 
drawn. 

"You  still  love  me,"  she  whispered  pite- 
ously ; '  *  still  even  now  when  you  know  all,  the 
whole  truth?" 

"Louboff,  when  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you 
something  within  me  stronger  than  reason, 
stronger  than  life,  stronger  than  my  up- 
bringing, spoke  for  me.  Dearest,  you  have 
been  misled,  misguided,  misinformed ;  that  is 
all.  I  love  you  better  now  than  before;  I 
love  you  better  with  every  beat  of  my  heart. 
Sweetheart,  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you; 
that  is  all!"  and  he  turned  and  kissed  her 
with  a  fervor  that  carved  forever  in  her  re- 
membrance the  certainty  and  consciousness 
of  his  great  love. 

On  reaching  the  house  it  took  some  time 
before  a  sleepy  servant  answered  their  ring. 

"What  about  to-morrow,  Louboff!"  asked 
Boris. 


182  THE    LEVELLER 

"I  will  certainly  be  back  from  Rubin- 
stein's about  three;  can  you  call  about  that 
time?" 

"Yes,  and  I  shall  have  something  for  you, 
sweetheart,"  he  added  smiling.  Just  then  the 
door  was  opened,  and  he  bent  over  her  and 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  her  forehead. 

"Good  night,  little  soul,"  he  whispered, 
"and  God  bless  you." 

Boris  dismissed  his  isivostschik,  not  know- 
ing exactly  what  to  do.  The  thought  of  re- 
turning to  his  uncle's  house  was  most  dis- 
tasteful. Mechanically  he  turned  into  the 
Nevsky,  wondering  what  hotel  he  had  best 
select,  and  if  it  were  wise  to  select  any.  At 
the  Nobles'  Club,  on  the  corner  of  the  Moes- 
kaya,  a  group  of  people  were  descending,  and, 
much  to  his  confusion,  Boris  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  his  uncle. 

The  latter  greeted  him  courteously. 

"On  foot?"  he  said  interrogatively.  "Well, 
it  is  lucky  then  I  meet  you.  I  presume  you 
are  on  your  way  home.  Jump  in,  Boris." 

As  soon  as  the  horses  had  started,  the 
Count  laughed. 

"Well,"  he  said  sneeringly,  "this  has  been 
a  lively  evening  for  some  of  us.  What  do  you 
think  of  your  little  Nihilist  now?" 


THE    LEVELLER  183 

Boris  did  not  answer;  he  bit  his  lips 
angrily. 

"A  beauty — a  beauty,  on  my  soul,"  went 
on  the  Count  quickly.  "Your  taste,  my  boy, 
is  perfect;  she  brings  back  to  one's  mind's 
eyes  all  the  heroine  beauties  of  the  Bible. 
When  the  race  does  give  us  a  siren  it  cer- 
tainly outdoes  all  others.  But,  mon  Dieu, 
picture  to  yourself  what  she  will  be  in  ten, 
fifteen,  twenty  years'  time.  However,  do  not 
worry,  by  that  time,"  he  added  comfort- 
ingly, '  *  ah,  how  your  ideas  will  have  changed. 
She  is  courageous,  too,  the  minx — decidedly 
so.  Imagine  her  facing  us  and  giving  voice 
to  such  sentiments!  You  stopped  her  too 
soon." 

"She  is  only  eighteen.  What  does  she 
know  of  such  things?"  asked  Boris  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Enough,"  said  the  Count  quickly,  "to  do 
irreparable  harm." 

Boris  shrugged  his  shoulders,  then  he  said 
sullenly : 

"You  will  keep  your  promise  about  her 
brother?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  Count.  Then  in  a 
tone  of  peculiar  satisfaction  he  added:  "Yes, 
yes ;  she  will  have  her  brother  to-morrow,  and 


184  THE    LEVELLER 

two  weeks  from  to-day  she  will  start  for  the 

frontier. ' ' 

Boris  could  feel  the  blood  recede  from  his 
heart  as  the  Count  spoke. 

"She  was  going  in  any  case,"  he  said 
quietly  for  want  of  a  reply.  "She  gives  a 
concert  in  Berlin. ' ' 

"So  much  the  better;  people  will  not  re- 
mark her  going,  and  you,  my  nephew,  are 
therefore  prepared." 

"Is  there  anything  you  could  do,  my 
uncle,  to  rescind  the  order — even  if  after  a 
year  or  two.  You  will  not  exile " 

"She  will  never  put  her  foot  in  Russia 
again,"  said  the  Count  hotly.  "So  long,  at 
least,  as  I  am  Minister  of  the  Interior.  No, 
no,  a  self-confessed  murderess  of  the  Tsar! 
Good  heavens,  Boris,  how  love  blinds  one! 
You  do  not  realize  what  you  are  asking.  "Well, 
here  is  the  house,  my  boy.  Au  revoir." 

"One  moment,"  said  Boris  detainingly. 
"As  long  as  she  is  here,  I — I  mean  to  see 
her." 

"I  shall  not  prevent  it;  you  do  love  her, 
I  see  that;  therefore,  have  your  little  enjoy- 
ment. I  am  not  beyond  the  memory  of  such 
things  myself,  and  they  are  sweet,  they  are 
sweet — you  will  never  realize  how  sweet  till 


THE    LEVELLER  185 

you  reach  my  age.  No,  go  ahead,  two  weeks 
can  do  no  harm;  it  will  give  you  time  to  get 
over  it.  But  remember  your  mother  arrives 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  you  will  surely  hide  this 
infatuation  from  her,  if  you  love  her." 

With  these  parting  words  the  Count  di- 
vested himself  of  his  fur  coverings  and  got 
out,  the  sleigh  having  stopped  at  the  Palace 
Annenkoff. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

It  was  with  no  little  trepidation  that  Lou- 
boff  entered  Rubinstein's  study  the  following 
morning.  He  greeted  her  as  kindly  as  ever, 
but  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  she  dreaded. 

He  was  just  about  to  commence  what 
seemed  a  serious  talk  when,  much  to  her  re- 
lief, the  violinist  who  was  to  accompany  her 
in  the  Beethoven  duet  arrived.  Rubinstein 
set  them  to  work  at  once.  For  almost  two 
hours  they  rehearsed  steadily  when  Matve 
announced  luncheon.  Rubinstein  was  in  great 
good  humor,  and  as  they  sat  down  he  said, 
blowing  her  a  kiss: 

"Louboff,  my  little  soul,  do  you  know  that 
to-day  you  have  played — played  like  an  art- 
ist! I  could  almost  forget  you  are  a  woman." 

Louboff's  pale  cheeks  flushed.  The  strain 
of  the  night  before  had  left  its  traces  in  her 
face  and  manner,  but  the  languor  in  her 
countenance  only  added  to  its  beauty. 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  he  went  on,  "if 
I  am  not  a  fool  to  devote  so  much  time  to  you 
— women,  as  artists,  are  such  unsatisfactory 
creatures;  one  can  neither  rely  on  them  nor 

186 


THE    LEVELLER  187 

count  on  them ;  somehow  they  never  do  as  you 
expect.  I  mean  it,"  he  added  seriously. 
"Women  as  artists  are  failures;  but  I  really 
believe,  my  camarade,"  he  murmured  affec- 
tionately, as  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips, 
' '  that  in  thee  I  have  found  the  one  great  ex- 
ception." 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch, "  said  Louboff 
softly,  her  manner  animated,  yet  humble,  "I 
sincerely  hope  so.  No  one  has  ever  had  such 
a  master." 

"Louboff,  you  will  not  fail  me;  you  will  be 
guided  by  an  old  world-weary  artist  who  has 
fought  the  fight  with  himself,  and  knows? 
Will  you  accept  my  experience  as — final  ? ' ' 

He  still  held  her  hand  in  his,  and  his  glance 
rested  on  her  with  a  pleading  sadness  that 
brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes. 

She  believed  he  referred  to  the  scene  of 
the  previous  night. 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch,"  she  began,  and 
jumping  up  she  went  behind  his  chair  and 
laid  her  cool,  fresh  cheek  against  his  lov- 
ingly, her  arms  about  his  neck,  "your  com- 
mands will  be  my  laws,  now  and  always. 
There  is  nothing  I  am  not  ready  to  give  up 
for  you.  Don't  you  know  it?" 

Eubinstein  pressed  her  hands. 


188  THE    LEVELLER 

"Back  to  your  soup,  you  witch,"  he  said 
pleadingly,  *  *  this  is  luncheon  time. ' ' 

When  Souroffsky  rose  to  go,  after  lunch- 
eon, so,  too,  did  Louboff,  but  Rubinstein 
stopped  her. 

"At  two  I  have  work  to  do,"  he  said 
quietly,  "but,  Louboff,  I  must  have  a  talk 
with  you.  Au  revoir,"  he  added  carelessly  to 
the  young  artist,  who  left  instantly.  "Come, 
Louboff." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  neck,  and  they 
went  together  from  the  salon  to  the  study. 

Eubinstein  lit  a  fresh  cigarette,  then  he 
bent  the  fingers  of  each  hand  from  the 
knuckle ;  it  was  one  of  his  characteristic  exer- 
cises for  keeping  his  fingers  limber.  Then  he 
turned  to  her. 

"Louboff,  do  you  realize  thoroughly  what 
it  means  to  belong  to  our  brotherhood — our 
brotherhood  of  artists?" 

She  was  not  prepared  for  the  question ;  she 
stammered  an  unintelligible  reply. 

"Do  you  realize  how  far  above  the  others 
we  are,  the  bigness  and  glory  of  our  world, 
our  calling!  I  ask  this  because  I  want  to 
know  if  you  have  the  stamina  in  you  to  reject 
that  which  the  world  at  large  calls  happiness 
or  fortune,  and  because  Boris  Alexandero- 


THE  LEVELLER  189 

witch  informed  me  last  night  that  you  and 
he  are  betrothed." 

Rubinstein's  eyes  were  half  closed,  but  she 
knew  he  was  scrutinizing  her  closely,  trying 
to  mesmerize  her  into  a  confession  true  and 
complete,  or  else  confuse  her  so  that  she 
would  reveal  her  secret. 

"We  are,"  she  replied  slowly. 

"And  you  will  be  married — some  day?" 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch, "  she  said  earn- 
estly, "what  can  I  say?  There  are  so  many 
impediments  in  our  way.  It  seems  almost  an 
impossibility.  I  hardly  dare  hope." 

Her  tone  was  matter  of  fact  and  very  calm. 
Her  interest  in  what  she  was  saying  was  not 
extreme;  she  was  too  intent  on  finding  out 
toward  what  he  was  drifting  and  in  molding 
her  replies  to  suit.  "He  is  thinking  of  my 
career,"  she  told  herself. 

Rubinstein  smiled. 

"Then  it  is  not  a  matter  of  vital  interest, 
Louboff?"  he  asked  earnestly.  "Marriage  is 
not  the  final  goal  of  all  your  hopes,  as  it 
seems  to  be  of  his  f  You  are  not  enthusiastic ; 
you  are  satisfied  just — well,  just  to  love  him? 
You  do  love  him?" 

Again  she  was  guarded. 

"Perhaps,"  she  replied  with  a  blush, 
charming  in  its  confusion. 


190  THE    LEVELLER 

Eubinstein  drew  down  her  face  and  kissed 
her  on  the  mouth. 

"Ah,  Louboff,  you  will  not  disappoint  me, 
and  it  is  well ;  my  hopes  are  centered  on  you, 
child.  Be  always  true  to  my  teaching. ' ' 

"Then  my  marriage  would  displease  you?" 

"Marriage!  It  would  be  the  end  of  your 
career.  It's  ruin." 

"But  you " 


<  t 


'Ah!  Leave  me  out.  I  was  thirty-five 
years  old;  my  career  was  made.  It  is  suffi- 
cient that  I  give  you  counsel  of  a  contrary 
nature.  ' ' 

Louboff  smiled,  unmoved  in  her  intentions 
by  his  remarks.  Rubinstein's  commands  had 
not  swayed  her  one  iota.  She  saw  through 
the  gloom  and  disappointments  of  life  with 
the  hopefulness  and  joy  of  her  own  youth. 
She  had  nothing  to  fear.  Boris  loved  her; 
loved  her  in  spite  of  all  obstacles. 

She  was  about  to  commence  her  career; 
she  had  Rubinstein's  own  assurance  that  it 
would  be  notable.  And  as  to  marriage,  she 
was  in  no  hurry;  that  could  wait,  for  a  time 
at  least.  Meanwhile,  why  not  humor  Rubin- 
stein? She  smiled  again  at  her  own  deduc- 
tions, then  she  arose  and  said  quietly : 

"See,    it   is    almost    two    o'clock,    Anton 


THE  LEVELLER  191 

Gregoriewitch.  You  must  send  me  away." 

"No,  I  have  still  something  to  say.  I  am 
responsible  for  you  now,  you  understand  that 
thoroughly?" 

"Yes." 

"And  all  this  meddling  with — with " 

Rubinstein  had  the  usual  horror,  like  all  the 
Tsar's  subjects,  of  even  mentioning  the  idea 
in  his  mind.  He  hesitated  and  nodded  his 
head. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  Anton  Gregoriewitch;  I 
never  realized  how  foolish  it  all  was,"  she 
replied  crestfallen. 

"Altogether  foolish;  yes.  See,"  said 
Eubinstein,  pointing  to  a  group  of  happy- 
looking  moujiks  opposite  his  windows,  who 
stood  together  laughing  and  jesting,  "that  is 
Eussia — they  are  content ;  we  must  be.  Now 
go." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Once  out  in  the  clear  crisp  of  the  afternoon, 
Louboff  began  to  think  over  all  that  Rubin- 
stein had  said  to  her,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  had  leisure  to  realize  what  a  momentous 
change  had  come  into  her  life. 

A  marriage  with  Boris !  Once  it  had  been 
a  vague  idea,  a  winged  thought  from  fairy- 
land, a  hope  that  died  in  its  analyzing;  but 
now,  he  had  indeed  asked  her,  he  had  thrown 
all  his  prejudices  to  the  winds — and  some 
time — perhaps — in  the  dim  roseate  future, 
yes,  they  would  marry. 

She  would  be  Countess  Gourowsky.  How 
could  Rubinstein  suppose  for  a  moment  that 
in  comparison  her  career  would  be  first  with 
her;  that  much  as  she  loved  art  she  would 
give  up  Boris?  She  smiled  at  the  mere 
thought ;  but  she  argued  with  herself : 

"It  is  as  well  to  keep  Rubinstein  satisfied. 
He  is  a  great  artist;  one  has  to  humor  him 
and  then  he  has  done  so  much  for  me  and  has 
done  it  all  so  willingly. ' ' 

Little  by  little  she  went  back  over  her  be- 
trothal of  the  night  before;  like  an  echo  she 

102 


THE    LEVELLER  193 

heard  Boris  tell  of  his  love ;  the  remembrance 
of  the  love  light  in  his  eyes  caused  a  blush  to 
rise  to  her  cheeks.  And  then  the  awful  mo- 
ment of  her  arrest,  her  declaration;  what  a 
confession  she  had  made ! 

She  shrank  at  the  memory  of  her  own 
words;  of  the  nightmare-like  horror  of  the 
scene  in  the  Annenkoff  Palace.  How  lucky 
she  was  to  get  her  freedom.  She  sighed  as 
she  thought  how  happily  it  had  all  ended. 
To-day  Michel  returns,  she  told  herself,  won- 
dering why  the  fact  seemed  to  matter  so  little 
to  her;  she  could  only  think  that  in  a  short 
time,  an  hour  at  most,  she  would  see  Boris 
again. 

At  three  he  was  to  be  with  her.  She  took 
out  her  watch;  it  was  then  a  little  after  two. 
A  flutter  of  excitement  went  through  her.  It 
was  her  first  love  affair,  and,  oh,  how  supreme 
was  her  feeling  of  contentment. 

Getting  out  of  the  sleigh,  she  gave  the  de- 
lighted and  astonished  iswostschik  a  rouble, 
telling  him  to  keep  the  change,  then  feeling  as 
if  the  worjd  belonged  to  her,  she  nodded  gaily 
to  the  porter  sitting  by  the  door  and  went  in. 

Going  up  the  staircase,  some  one  came  out 
of  a  doorway  in  the  hall,  and,  running  after 
her,  put  his  arms  about  her  neck. 


194  THE    LEVELLER 

"It  is  Michel,"  she  thought  quickly,  turn- 
ing round  to  see.  She  found  Boris. 

"I  was  upstairs;  they  told  me  you  were 
out,  so  I  waited.  LoubofF,  who  would  think 
all  that  has  happened  did  happen !  You  look 
adorable,  as  fresh  and  lovely  as  a  rose.  Are 
you  glad  to  see  me,  sweetheart?  But  not  as 
glad  as  I  am  to  see  you." 

He  gave  her  no  time  to  answer,  and  hand 
in  hand  they  finished  the  rest  of  the  climb, 
both  of  them  breathless  with  happiness. 

* '  No  one  was  at  home ;  Michel  Antonowitch 
had  not  yet  come ;  the  \>arin,  Anton  Malkiel, 
had  received  a  paper  from  the  Ministerium 
and  had  hurried  out,"  the  servant  told  Lou- 
boff  as  he  hung  up  their  shoubas,  side  by  side. 
The  moment  they  were  alone  Boris  put  his 
arms  about  Louboff  and  they  walked  to  the 
music-room. 

"Tea?"  asked  Louboff. 

"No,  no,  not  unless  you  want  it.  I  have 
something  for  you,  what  I  told  you  of  last 
night.  Are  you  not  curious?"  Boris  said, 
fumbling  in  his  pocket.  He  pulled  out  a  small 
jeweler's  case,  and,  opening  it,  flashed  before 
her  eyes  her  engagement  ring. 

"Will  it  fit  you?  I  could  only  guess,  you 
know,"  he  went  on  anxiously.  "Oh,  Louboff, 


THE  LEVELLER  195 

exact,  exact!"  he  cried  delightedly  as  he 
slipped  the  ring  on  her  finger  and  found  it 
fitted  perfectly.  "Sweetheart,  it  is  a  lucky 
omen,"  he  said,  kissing  her. 

Louboff  laughed.  "But,  Boris,  what  ex- 
travagance. It  is  perfectly  beautiful,  the 
loveliest  ring  I  ever  saw,"  and  she  turned  the 
ring  with  its  two  diamonds  and  turquoise  ad- 
miringly round  and  round  her  finger.  "But," 
she  went  on,  "to  take  so  much  money  away 
from  your  philanthropic  schemes  at  Gou- 
rowsky " 

Boris  flushed.  "Oh,"  he  said  quickly, 
' '  that  was  bought  with  my  uncle 's  money ;  he 
gave  me  a  cheque  yesterday  for  a  thousand 
roubles.  I  live  with  him  now."  Boris  then 
explained  the  causes  of  his  moving  from 
Wasily  Ostroff. 

Louboif  's  eyes  were  twinkling  with  inward 
and  almost  uncontrollable  mirth.  "If  he 
knew,"  she  whispered,  and  she  flashed  the 
ring  back  and  forth  in  the  sunlight,  laughing. 

Boris  caught  her  idea  and  laughed,  too. 

"Now,"  she  said  quietly,  "sit  down;  you 
must  tell  me  all  about  last  night.  How  was  it 
ever  managed?  What  luck  is  ours." 

Bit  by  bit  Boris  told  his  story,  and  this  led 
him  up  to  the  scene  with  Rubinstein,  of  which 


196  THE    LEVELLER 

he  gave  her  a  mere  outline,  omitting  many  of 

the  master's  theories  on  marriage. 

"You  must  not  mind  that,"  she  said 
soothingly.  "Anton  Gregoriewitch  looks  on 
me  solely  as  a  tool  of  art,  a  machine.  You 
have  no  idea  how  he  has  made  me  work ;  and 
then  he  fears — all  this  to  go  for  nothing — 
that  marriage  would  mean  my  returning  to 
private  life."  Looking  up  suddenly  she 
asked,  inquietude  in  her  voice,  "You  never 
intend  that,  Boris,  do  you!" 

"I — I  have  not  thought  about  it,  Louboff. 
I — all  this  is  so  new,  so  strange,  it  would  be 
a  queer  thing  for  a  Countess  Gourowsky  to 
play  in  public.  But,  dear,"  he  added  con- 
tentedly, "I  will  leave  all  that  to  you." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  grasped  his  af- 
fectionately. "We  will  arrange  all  that  later. 
I  will  make  my  debut  in  two  weeks,  and  then 
we  will  see.  I  may  be  a  rank  failure. ' ' 

Boris  shook  his  head  decisively. 

"And  our  marriage,  Louboff,"  he  asked, 
"when  is  that  to  be?" 

"Oh,  Boris,"  she  sighed,  and  the  shadows 
in  her  face  deepened.  "There  are  so  many 
obstacles.  There  is  your  mother,  your 
uncle ;  I  must  go  to  Berlin,  you  have  to  finish 
your  studies." 


THE    LEVELLER  197 

"That  event,"  he  cried  quickly,  "hap- 
pens this  summer.  After  your  debut  in  Ber- 
lin you  play  in  several  cities.  Now  after 
that?" 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  she  said,  rising, 
"that  I  have  to  practice." 

"But  you  have  not  answered  me,"  he  in- 
sisted. 

She  was  smiling  and  blushing. 

"Well,  in  the  summer  then,  but  whatever 
you  do  keep  all  this  from  Anton  Gregorie- 
witch.  Just  before  I  left  him  he  was  lectur- 
ing me." 

"As  if  he  or  any  one  could  come  between 
us,"  Boris  cried,  as  he  put  his  arms  about 
her,  and,  lifting  her  face  to  his,  kissed  her 
on  the  mouth. 

She  went  to  the  pianoforte.  Boris  sat  by 
the  window  while  she  ran  through  all  the 
Eubinstein  Barcarollen,  and,  as  the  afternoon 
wore  along  and  it  became  evening,  her  mood 
changed  and  she  became  melancholy. 

Once  she  stopped  in  her  music  and  said 
apprehensively:  "I  wonder  what  keeps 
Michel;  you  are  watching  for  him,  are  you 
not?  He  will  come  from  the  Petro  Pavlovsky 
fortress  over  the  bridge;  you  can  see  him 
where  you  are  seated.  Such  terrible  dreams 


198  THE    'LEVELLER 

as  I  have  had, ' '  she  went  on,  sighing,  then  all 
at  once  she  ceased  playing  and  came  beside 
him.  In  the  dim  twilight  of  the  snow-laden 
streets  a  hearse,  surrounded  by  a  company 
of  soldiers,  passed  over  the  bridge.  Louboff 's 
face  had  grown  ashen  pale. 

"Why  does  Michel  not  come!"  she  said  in 
agitation.  ' '  See  that  hearse ;  it  was  so  in  my 
dream.  But,  oh,  God,  Boris,  Michel  was  in- 
side it!  I  can  see  him  still." 

Boris  put  his  arms  about  her  protectingly. 
"It  is  an  old  saying  that  dreams  go  by  con- 
traries. A  funeral  means  a  wedding — yours 
and  mine,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  trying  to  be 
playful. 

"Yes,  yes;  but  did  you  never  feel  the  loom- 
ing up  of  some  terrible  misfortune!"  she 
asked,  awe  and  terror  in  her  hushed  voice, 
her  eyes  looking  straight  into  his. 

Her  emotion  seemed  to  infuse  itself  into 
his  heart ;  a  strange  feeling  of  creepy  horror 
came  over  him  as  together  they  turned  to 
watch  the  funeral  cortege  slowly  moving. 
Louboff  clutched  him  tighter. 

"Come,  come,"  he  said  resolutely,  trying 
to  make  his  tone  light  and  gay.  "Why  tor- 
ture yourself,  sweetheart!  See,  here  comes  a 
sleigh  and  a  student  in  it.  In  the  dim  light 


THE  LEVELLER  199 

one  cannot  be  sure,  but  I  believe  it  is  MicheL 
Yes,  it  must  be  he." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  ring  at  the 
doorbell. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  cried  Louboff,  "it  is;  you 
are  right.  Oh,  heaven,  what  a  feeling  takes 
possession  of  one  at  times.  Come,  let  us  meet 
him,"  and  her  face  assumed  all  its  wonted 
brightness. 

They  hurried  to  the  ante-chamber,  and 
there  they  found  not  Michel,  but  an  officer 
waiting. 

"Mademoiselle,  Count  d'AnnenkofPs  com- 
pliments, Michel  Malkiel  is  below,"  he  said 
politely. 

Louboff  brushed  past  him,  crying,  "Where, 
where  ?  Why  does  he  not  come  up  ?  "  and  f ol- 
lowed  by  Boris,  hurried  downstairs. 

As  her  foot  touched  the  last  step  she  gave 
a  great  moan  of  horror  and  threw  her  hands 
above  her  head. 

Six  stalwart  soldiers  were  crossing  the 
outer  threshold  carrying  a  coffin  between 
them. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

Before  Boris  could  stop  her,  Louboff  was 
by  the  side  of  the  coffin  and  had  read  the 
name  "  Michel  Antono witch  Malkiel"  at  a 
glance. 

Then  an  unnatural  calm  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  her.  She  looked  up  at  Boris 
with  stony  eyes  as  silently  they  followed  the 
grewsome  object  of  death. 

When  they  reached  the  apartment  all  was 
prepared  in  the  chamber  adjoining  the  ante- 
chamber; chairs  were  ranged  against  the 
wall,  the  center  of  the  room  was  cleared.  Only 
when  the  soldiers  and  undertakers  crowded 
in  did  Louboff  seem  to  realize  her  loss. 

'  *  Oh,  God  of  my  fathers ! ' '  she  cried  in  He- 
brew, as  she  stood  by  the  coffin.  "This  is 
more  than  I  can  bear."  Then  the  awfulness 
of  her  sorrow  came  home  to  her  in  all  its 
force,  and,  throwing  herself  down  on  her 
knees,  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  her 
grief. 

Boris,  unable  to  gaze  on  a  spectacle  he  had 
no  power  to  alleviate,  followed  the  officer  in 
command  as  he  left  the  room. 

200 


THE    LEVELLER  201 

4 'When — when  did  this  happen?"  he 
asked,  his  voice  trembling  in  spite  of  his  ef- 
forts to  control  it. 

"On  the  way  to  prison,  the  night  of  his 
arrest.  He  swallowed  poison  and  died  ten 
minutes  later.  Boris  Alexanderowitch, " 
added  the  older  man  kindly,  "why  are  you 
here?  Do  you  not  realize  the  danger?  I 
knew  your  father;  he  was  a  good  friend  to 
me;  I  feel  I  can  speak  to  you  as  I  would  to 
my  own  son.  This  is  no  place  for  you;  get 
out  of  here." 

Boris  was  not  listening;  he  was  too  busy 
thinking  of  his  uncle's  treachery.  Mechani- 
cally he  thanked  the  officer  as  he  left. 

When  he  returned  to  Louboff  she  was 
standing  by  the  coffin,  calm  once  more,  and 
the  face  of  Michel,  cold  and  awful  in  its 
serenity  of  death,  stared  up  at  them.  The 
soldiers  had  all  gone ;  only  the  weeping  serv- 
ants stood  around.  All  at  once  Louboff  cried 
fiercely : 

1 '  Boris,  I  am  not  a  Nihilist ;  I  was  not.  But 
what  does  this  mean?  But  vengeance  I  will 
have.  Examine  his  body,  see  if  he  died  of 
torture  before  I  can  swear  to  you  that  I  may 
not  become  one." 

Boris  put  his  arm  about  her;  with  tender 


202  THE    LEVELLER 

love  words  he  tried  to  calm  her.    But  stories 

of  the  torture  chamber  had  reached  her.    She 

would  not  be  comforted.    In  spite  of  all  his 

entreaties  she  insisted  on  his  doing  as  she 

asked. 

With  the  female  servants  she  withdrew, 
leaving  Boris  a  task  that  frightened  him. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  called  her  in. 

"Louboff,"  he  said  tenderly,  "there  is  not 
a  mark  on  his  body — not  one ;  he  died  of  poi- 
son, by  his  own  hand."  And  then  gently  he 
told  her  what  the  officer  had  said. 

"Thank  God,"  she  said  bitterly,  "he  was 
at  least  saved  the  torture  chamber,  and  Si- 
beria. It  is  well." 

All  of  them  had  forgotten  the  father,  An- 
ton Malkiel.  He  came  in  just  then,  and, 
dazed  at  first,  looked  and  then  went  straight 
to  the  coffin.  At  sight  of  Michel's  face  he 
gave  one  piercing  shriek  and  fell  across  the 
bier,  his  arms  outstretched. 

"Oh,  Michel,  Michel,  my  son,  have  they 
taken  you  from  me!"  he  moaned,  and  the 
glance  of  his  old  eyes  as  it  passed  from  face 
to  face  of  the  saddened  group  in  piteous  ap- 
peal went  to  the  heart  of  Boris.  Louboff 
went  over  to  him  and  put  her  arms  about 
him. 


THE    LEVELLER  203 

"Oh,  child,  child,"  he  sobbed,  "to-day  I 
blasphemed  against  my  God.  They  sent  me 
a  paper  from  the  Ministerium,  demanding 
that  I,  that  you,  with  all  my  household,  leave 
Eussia  within  three  weeks,  and  I  cursed  my 
God  for  allowing  the  Christians  this  glory 
over  me.  But  now.  Oh,  Michel,  Michel,  my 
boy,  what  are  worldly  possessions  in  com- 
parison to  thee!" 

Hours  later  Boris  faced  his  uncle. 

"It  was  cruel!  it  was  horrible!"  he  cried 
in  his  anger  at  the  powerful  Minister,  who 
sat  watching  him  with  calm  insolence  in  his 
haughty  eyes.  "And  you  cheated  her;  you 
lied ;  you  knew  her  brother  was  dead ! ' ' 

Count  d'Annenkoff  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  without  taking  notice  of  his  nephew's 
angry  denunciation,  remarked  very  calmly : 

"All  is  fair  in  love  and  war;  did  I  not  give 
her  back  her  brother  as  she  asked?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

For  three  days  after  the  funeral  Louboff 
shut  herself  up  in  her  room  and  would  see  no 
one.  Listening  outside  the  door,  Boris  could 
hear  no  sound  of  weeping  within,  nothing  but 
a  silence  that  terrified  him,  and  he  would 
rush  for  her  maid  to  have  her  enter  the  room 
to  see  if  matters  were  all  right  within. 

All  day  long  in  the  grief-stricken  house- 
hold there  were  sounds  of  hammering  and 
the  moving  of  furniture. 

Anton  Malkiel  had  sold  his  household  ef- 
fects at  a  great  sacrifice  among  his  friends, 
and  bit  by  bit  they  were  hastily  removed,  lest 
some  greedy  official  come  to  demand  them. 

When  Louboff  at  last  emerged  from  her  se- 
clusion, Boris  marveled,  and  was  delighted  to 
find  her  outwardly  calm  and  composed,  with- 
out wish  to  speak  of  the  dead.  "It  has  to  be 
borne,"  she  said  once,  when  he  mentioned 
Michel's  name.  "It  is  the  will  of  God,  but  do 
not  let  us  talk  about  it,  my  camarade;  it  is  as 
much  as  I  can  do  to  think  in  fortitude.  I  must 
bear  it,  and  I  will  bear  it. ' ' 

She  had  not  even  put  on  mourning. 

204 


THE    LEVELLER  205 

* '  What  does  that  matter  ? ' '  she  said  with  a 
shrug  of  lassitude,  as  she  noticed  Boris  look- 
ing askance  at  her  gown  of  gray  woolen  stuff. 
And  Boris  felt  the  truth  of  her  remark.  Grief 
such  as  hers  was  far  too  deep  for  any  out- 
ward show. 

She  shuddered  as  they  walked  through  the 
half  empty  rooms  with  their  litter  of  pack- 
ing cases  and  trunks.  Only  her  music-room 
remained  intact,  the  furniture  of  which  was 
to  be  forwarded  to  Berlin,  where  she  had  de- 
cided to  make  headquarters. 

"I  cannot  realize  it,"  she  said  sadly.  "To 
think  that  in  another  week  I  begin  life  anew, 
amid  strange  scenes,  strange  people,  away 
from  all  the  associations  of  home  and  friends 
I  have  known  since  childhood." 

"But,"  whispered  Boris,  hopefully,  "it 
will  be  only  for  a  while.  My  mother  comes  to- 
morrow. She  loves  me,  I  know,  better  than 
her  own  life.  My  happiness  is  her  whole  con- 
cern, and  after  a  time,  when  she  knows  you, 
she  will  see  things  as  I  see  them.  So  your 
departure  now  has  no  significance. 

"You  will  go  to  Berlin;  you  will  make  a 
great  success;  do  honor  to  Rubinstein  and 
please  him.  You  will  become  famous,  and 
then,  just  as  soon  as  my  studies  are  over  and 


206  TEE    LEVELLER 

I  get  my  Government  position,  no  matter  how 
small  that  may  be  at  first,  I  shall  come  for 
you,  and  we  will  marry.  Then  as  my  wife 
you  will  return  to  Eussia,  and,  as  the  story 
books  say,  live  happy  ever  after. 

"The  Gourowsky  estate  we  will  leave  alto- 
gether to  my  mother,  while  she  lives,  and 
afterward — afterward,  Louboff,  you  and  I 
will  end  our  days  there  and  devote  our  lives 
to  philanthropy." 

She  smiled  back  at  him,  her  beautiful  face 
shadowed  by  grief. 

"I  see  nothing  of  all  that,"  she  whispered. 
"I  see  nothing." 

Nevertheless  they  made  their  plans,  such 
as  they  could  make.  Louboff  promised  to 
write  him  daily,  no  matter  how  busy  she 
might  be,  if  only  one  word;  and  Boris  as- 
sured her  that  every  Russian  post  would 
bring  her  an  epistle,  and  that  whenever  his 
studies  allowed  he  would  cross  the  frontier 
just  for  a  sight  of  her  face. 

That  same  evening  a  package  of  photo- 
graphs of  all  sizes  and  kinds  came :  Louboff 
in  evening  dress,  Louboff  in  walking  dress, 
Louboff  at  the  pianoforte.  Boris  pounced 
greedily  on  samples  of  each  till  he  had  placed 
aside  some  dozen  in  all  for  himself. 


THE    LEVELLER  207 

"But  where  will  you  put  them  all  I'*  she 
inquired.  "I  will  not  have  enough  for  the 
music  shops  of  Berlin.  What,  too,  will  your 
uncle  think,  or  your  mother  say?  Believe 
me,  Boris,  you  are  unwise,  if  you  have  any 
intention,  as  you  say,  of  decorating  your 
room  with  these.  You  do  not  realize  things 
as  they  are." 

Boris  laughed. 

"The  first  thing  my  mother  will  see  in  my 
rooms  will  be  this,"  he  said,  lifting  up  the 
largest  and  handsomest;  "and  she  will  ask, 
'Who  is  that?  What  a  beautiful  face,'  and  I 
will  reply,  'Beautiful  indeed,  mother.  Your 
new  daughter  to  be,  and  my  betrothed,  Lou- 
boff  Malkiel,  the  future  Countess  Gourow- 
sky.'  " 

Louboff  blushed  with  pleasure,  and,  listen- 
ing to  him,  the  sorrow  in  her  face  grew 
lighter  and  the  curves  about  her  mouth  less 
sad. 

That  day  she  played  for  him  the  greater 
part  of  her  repertoire,  and  one  of  the  smaller 
Nocturnes  of  Chopin  she  promised  to  include 
in  all  her  programs  as  a  souvenir  of  him,  be- 
cause it  was  his  favorite. 

From  that  on  Boris  was  practically  at 
home  in  the  Malkiel  household,  coming  and 


208  THE    LEVELLER 

going  at  will.  Anton  Malkiel  had  heard  in 
terror  the  announcement  of  the  betrothal,  but 
had  said  practically  nothing,  partly  from  con- 
fusion, partly  from  apathy. 

As  to  the  anger  that  would  have  come  to 
him  a  week  earlier,  that  he  allowed  no  place 
in  his  sentiments.  The  death  of  Michel,  his 
first  born  and  only  son,  seemed  to  have  dead- 
ened every  passion  within  him. 

Boris  he  scarcely  noticed.  He  ate  his 
meals  in  silence  and  then  went  out  to  at- 
tend to  the  many  business  affairs  consequent 
on  his  forced  and  hurried  departure. 

At  midnight  preceding  the  day  of  the 
Countess  Gourowsky's  arrival,  Boris  and 
Louboff  were  saying  an  revoir. 

"Now  to-morrow,  sweetheart,"  he  said 
somewhat  diffidently,  "I  do  not  know  when  I 
can  come;  but  you  are  sensible,  you  under- 
stand that." 

"Perfectly,  perfectly,"  she  replied  with  a 
little  smile  sad  in  its  forced  resignation. 

"My  mother  gets  here  early,"  he  went  on, 
"and  she  is  sure  to  monopolize  a  lot  of  my 
time;  but  if  nothing  else,  I  shall  be  at  Eubin- 
stein's  to  take  you  home." 

"Then  come  early.  I  shall  be  very  lonely 
without  you,"  she  said  gently,  and  Boris,  as 


THE  LEVELLER  209 

he  kissed  her,  made  up  his  mind  to  be  with 
her  for  at  least  an  hour  during  the  day* 

When  the  train  from  Moscow  steamed  into 
the  station,  Boris,  who  was  far  ahead  on  the 
platform,  caught  sight  of  his  mother's  eager 
face  leaning  out,  looking  for  him,  and,  run- 
ning along  with  the  train  till  it  stopped, 
shouting  out  his  greetings,  he  found  himself 
in  a  few  moments  more  clasped  in  her  arms. 

''My  boy,"  she  said  fervently,  and  as  his 
nostrils  scented  once  more  the  old  familiar 
odor  of  violets,  faint,  yet  aromatic,  that  al- 
ways perfumed  her  person,  and  felt  her 
strong  protecting  arms  about  him  in  that  ma- 
ternal embrace,  so  different  to  all  others,  his 
lips  trembled  and  his  eyes  grew  moist. 

This  was  the  old  love  of  his  childhood,  the 
old  love  he  had  so  completely  forgotten  of 
late  in  the  newer,  stronger,  passion  inspired 
by  Louboff,  and  as  he  looked  down  into  the 
beaming  face  raised  to  his  he  felt  ashamed. 

There  was  something  searching  and  pene- 
trating in  the  glance  she  gave  him — kind  as  it 
was — that  caused  him  to  redden,  and  her 
startled,  "Why,  Boris,  my  boy,  what  is  it? 
You  have  changed.  You  have  grown  up  all 
at  once  into  manhood,"  gratified  him  beyond 
words. 


210  THE    LEVELLER 

' '  Why  not,  mother  ? "  He  pitched  his  voice 
to  a  deeper  tone  proudly.  "I  am  a  man." 
whereat  the  Countess  Gourowsky  sighed. 

' '  Yes,  you  have  grown, ' '  she  added,  survey- 
ing him. 

"And  you,  mother  dear,  you  have 
widened. "  He  laughed  teasingly,  knowing 
that  any  allusion  to  her  increasing  bulk  was 
sure  to  make  her  forget  for  the  moment  every 
other  subject. 

"Alas,  yes ;  in  spite  of  all  I  do." 

Then  they  entered  the  sleigh  and  were 
driven  rapidly  to  Count  d'Annenkoff  's  palace 
on  the  Neva. 

During  the  drive  the  Countess  plied  Boris 
with  all  kinds  of  questions  as  to  his  studies, 
his  life  in  general,  and  all  the  time  Boris  was 
wondering  when  the  moment  would  arrive 
wherein  he  would  have  sufficient  courage  to 
tell  her  of  LoubofF. 

"Mother,"  he  said  at  length,." what  put  it 
into  your  head  to  come  to  St.  Petersburg?  I 
thought  nothing  would  make  you  desert  Gou- 
rowsky. ' ' 

"And  nothing  would  have,"  she  replied, 
turning  her  eyes  half  sternly  on  him,  "but 
your  interest." 

Boris  wondered  what  she  meant  exactly, 


THE    LEVELLER  211 

but  had  not  the  courage  to  ask.  Besides  they 
were  just  stopping  before  the  palace. 

Boris  had  jokingly  informed  Louboff  that 
it  was  her  photograph  that  would  be  his 
mother's  first  intimation  of  their  betrothal, 
and  so  it  proved. 

As  soon  as  the  long  ceremonial  of  welcom- 
ing the  Countess  was  over,  Boris  led  her  to 
their  apartment,  and,  going  through  it  from 
room  to  room,  at  last  halted  in  his  study, 
where  the  pictures  of  Louboff  were  con- 
spicuously placed  over  the  bookcase,  on  the 
writing  table,  and  one  of  the  largest  on  an 
easel. 

As  they  entered  the  room  Boris  turned  to 
his  mother,  expecting  a  cry  of  pleasure  and 
surprise  to  fall  from  her  lips  over  the  beauty 
of  the  lovely  Oriental  face.  Instead,  she 
raised  her  lorgnette,  and,  looking  at  the  pic- 
ture, said  carelessly : 

"Why,  what  have  we  here,  Boris?  A  music- 
hall  singer,  an  actress?"  Then  going  closer, 
she  gave  one  long,  scrutinizing  look,  and, 
turning  to  him,  said  chidingly,  and  with  a 
shiver  of  disgust:  "Faugh!  Faugh!  Boris! 
A  Jewess!" 

"Mother — mother,  is  she  not  beautiful?" 
he  queried,  real  distress  in  his  tones. 


212  THE    LEVELLER 

"After  a  fashion,  yes;  but " 

Then  turning  to  Boris,  hardly  able  to  keep 
up  the  farce  longer,  she  added  hastily :  ' '  But 
why  so  many  of  the  same  person?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  know  her — a  Jewess ! ' ' 

"Yes,  mother,  I  know  her,"  he  answered 
confusedly,  feeling  as  if  his  very  heartstrings 
were  snapping.  "I  know  her,"  he  added 
bravely, ' '  and  she  is  my  betrothed.  Her  name 
is  Louboff,  Louboff  Malkiel— and  she  is  a 
pupil  of  Rubinstein. ' ' 

For  the  first  time  in  their  joint  lives  the 
Countess  felt  her  grasp  on  him  had  weakened, 
and  the  very  bitterness  of  death  came  to  her 
heart.  He  was  her  son — all  that  fate  had 
spared  to  her,  and  yet  no  longer  her  son  as  of 
old.  Another  woman  had  taken  her  place, 
usurped  her  power — a  Jewess,  at  that — and 
she,  his  mother,  was  no  longer  the  pivot  about 
which  his  affections  centered. 

She  sank  down  on  a  divan. 

"Boris,"  she  said  weakly,  and  then  she 
laughed,  half  hysterical  in  her  pain  and  sor- 
row, "Boris,  you  joke,  and  it  is  a  cruel  joke 
to  me,  your  mother.  Betrothed,  at  your 
age!" 

He  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her  and  kissed 
her  hand. 


TEE    LEVELLER  213 

1  'Mother,  I  am  a  man;  I  am  no  longer  a 
boy;  and  Louboff " 

"Oh,  my  boy,"  she  interrupted,  "you  are 
only  a  child,  only  a  child,  still  in  spite  of  your 
six  feet  of  height ;  and  you  rush  off  like  a  silly 
fellow  and  betroth  yourself ;  you  dignify  calf 
love  into  a  passion." 

Boris  could  see  her  bosom  heaving  with 
emotion,  and  all  the  eulogies  he  had  ready 
of  Louboff  died  on  his  lips,  stifled  by  her  in- 
terruption. Then  she  bent  over  his  head  and 
began  to  stroke  it  lovingly. 

"Boris,  my  son,  how  could  you?"  she  went 
on  in  motherly  fashion,  with  the  tone  and 
manner  of  reproving  a  small  child.  "And 
to  do  all  this  without  letting  me  know. 
Why " 

"But  it  came  on  me  all  so  suddenly,"  he 
said  simply.  "I  was  head  over  ears  in  love 
before  I  realized  it  myself. ' ' 

The  Countess  laughed  as  one  amused  be- 
yond control,  and  Boris  could  feel  his  first 
sentiment  of  anger  against  her  grow  within 
him  as  he  listened.  Seeing  his  sullen  face,  the 
Countess  became  doubly  afraid. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  at  length,  "it  is  useless 
to  argue  in  this  matter.  My  mind  is  made 


214  THE    LEVELLER 

up.    You  don't  know  Louboff,  but  when  you 

do " 

The  Countess  took  up  the  photograph. 

1  'Why,  I  don't  see  any  beauty  in  her,"  she 
remarked  with  a  shrug.  "How  very  strange, 
my  son,  that  you  should  have  become  be- 
witched by  such — such " 

Boris  raised  his  face,  brooding,  impatient, 
scornful. 

"You  understand,  mother  dear,"  he  said 
sweetly,  but  coldly,  "my  betrothed.  I  hope 
you  realize  this " 

"I  think,  Boris,  I  hardly  do." 

At  that  moment  luncheon  was  announced, 
and,  jumping  up,  Boris  gave  his  mother  his 
arm,  glad  of  the  fact  that  Count  d'Annen- 
koff  had  insisted  on  his  sister  lunching  with 
him  that  day. 

As  the  day  wore  along  Boris  was  con- 
scious only  of  one  thing:  the  society  of  his 
mother,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  failed  to 
satisfy  him.  He  found  his  thoughts  con- 
stantly wandering  to  Louboff,  longing  for 
her,  wondering  jealously  about  her  move- 
ments ;  but  the  Countess  Gourowsky  kept  him 
chained  to  her  side. 

He  went  with  her  to  St.  Isaac's;  he  made 
calls  with  her  on  some  relatives;  and  all  the 


THE    LEVELLER  215 

time  the  impatience  of  his  surroundings  be- 
came more  acute.  But  it  was  the  first  day  of 
her  arrival,  he  told  himself,  and  as  a  matter 
of  duty  his  time  belonged  to  her,  so  he  forced 
himself  to  be  cordial,  and  all  the  time  the  keen 
eyes  of  his  mother  noticed  the  difference ;  and 
the  jealousy  and  hatred  of  this  unknown 
woman  who  had  supplanted  her  in  his  affec- 
tion grew. 

At  the  dinner  table  he  said,  when  coffee 
was  served,  relief  and  joy  in  his  voice: 

'  *  And  now,  mother,  I  must  leave  you.  I  am 
going  to  Eubinstein's  to  take  Louboff  home." 

For  a  moment  the  Countess  hesitated, 
studying  her  son  meanwhile  intently,  then  she 
said  quietly : 

"To  Eubinstein's?  Why,  if  you  have  no 
objection,  I  will  accompany  you.  It  will  be 
like  old  times  to  see  our  great  Anton  Greg- 
oriewitch  again." 

Boris  looked  up  in  amazement.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  seemed  nonplussed,  then  he  smiled. 

"Why,  come  along!"  he  cried,  and  his  joy 
at  her  decision  was  suddenly  extreme.  "At 
Eubinstein's,"  he  told  himself,  "she  will  hear 
Louboff  play,  and  therefore  make  her  ac- 
quaintance in  the  best  possible  fashion." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"The  Count  and  Countess  Gourowsky," 
announced  Matve,  and  with  an  expression  of 
keen  delight,  Rubinstein  hurried  forward, 
and,  raising  the  Countess'  hand  to  his,  was 
greeted  by  her,  Russian  fashion,  with  a  kiss 
on  the  forehead. 

Then  he  turned  and  said  quietly  and  for- 
mally : 

"Countess,  allow  me  to  present  my  pupil, 
Louboff  Antonivna  Malkiel.  A  very  great 
pianist,  whom  you  will  hear  much  of,  one 
day,"  he  added  flatteringly. 

Louboff,  who  had  nervously  greeted  Boris, 
came  forward  and  bowed  to  the  great  lady, 
who  looked  her  over  so  critically,  then  some- 
thing pathetic  in  the  young  girl's  beauty — 
something  winsome  and  sweet  in  her  small 
figure,  in  its  clinging  robes  of  white  woolen 
stuff — awoke  the  sympathies  of  the  Countess. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  extending  her  hand 
graciously,  so  white  and  statuesque  against 
the  deep  purple  of  her  velvet  gown,  * '  my  son 
has  already  spoken  of  you,  Louboff  An- 
tonivna, and  I  have  seen  your  picture.  I 

210 


THE    LEVELLER  111 

think,"  she  added,  turning  a  swift  glance  on 
the  mollified  Boris,  "they  hardly  do  you 
justice." 

"Now,  Louboff,"  said  Anton  Rubinstein 
authoritatively — when  there  was  business  to 
be  done  he  was  always  energetic — "get  to  the 
pianoforte.  The  Countess,"  he  added,  "I 
know,  will  excuse  you.  Mademoiselle  Malkiel 
makes  her  debut  in  Germany  two  weeks 
hence,  and  must  play  over  the  program  of 
that  concert  to-night, ' '  he  said  in  explanation, 
turning  to  Boris'  mother.  "We  two  will  sit 
here  quietly  and  chat.  I  think  you  will  be  in- 
terested," he  whispered,  as  Boris  and  Lou- 
boff went  to  the  pianoforte,  the  former  assist- 
ing her  in  opening  it.  "A  really  great  talent, 
and  she  has  everything  besides  —  youth, 
beauty,  industry.  I  expect  her  to  become  one 
of  the  shining  lights  of  the  Conservatory." 

Eubinstein  was  visibly  nervous;  Louboff 
herself  seemed  indifferent.  Boris  having  left 
her,  she  sat  down  to  the  pianoforte,  while  the 
Countess  scrutinized  her  covertly.  "She  cer- 
tainly is  beautiful ;  more  than  beautiful ;  sym- 
pathetic, most  magnetic  in  personality," 
thought  the  older  woman  uneasily. 

With  fearless  attack,  broadly,  her  tone 
beautiful  in  its  singing  quality,  Louboff  com- 


218  THE    LEVELLER 

menced  one  of  the  Bach  Preludes  and  Fugues. 

In  her  younger  days,  when  a  dame  d'hon- 
neur  of  the  Empress  Marie,  and  when  Rubin- 
stein was  the  bright  and  shining  light  of  the 
Grand  Duchess  Helene's  Court,  Countess 
Gourowsky,  then  Mdlle.  d'Annenkoff,  had 
been  one  of  his  most  promising  pupils,  and 
her  knowledge  of  music  was  therefore 
thorough.  As  soon  as  Louboff  had  finished 
the  Prelude  and  commenced  the  Fugue,  one 
of  the  most  difficult  of  the  forty-eight,  the 
Countess  turned,  really  surprised,  and  said  to 
her  old  master  with  enthusiasm : 

"  Surely  a  marvelous  talent,  and  so 
young ! ' ' 

"Yes,  but  wait  till  you  hear  her  Beethoven, 
superb;  and  her  Chopin" — he  kissed  the  fin- 
gers of  his  right  hand — "exquisite.  Poor 
child,  she  has  just  lost  her  brother.  I  was 
afraid  it  would  mean  nervous  breakdown,  but 
I  insisted  on  her  giving  the  concert  as  ar- 
ranged, and  the  hard  work  seems  to  have  had 
a  beneficial  effect.  There  is  only  one  thing, ' ' 
continued  the  great  musician  after  a  pause,  as 
Bach's  music  filled  the  room  with  its  sonorous 
harmony,  "I  hope  she  will  fall  in  love." 

The  old-time  pupil  and  master  looked  at 
each  other  meaningly. 


THE    LEVELLER  219 

Then  the  Countess  said  with  her  slow  smile 
of  grande  dame:  "Say  it,  Anton  Gregorie- 
witch,  you  think  my  Boris  and " 

Eubinstein  shrugged  his  shoulders;  then 
he  laughed. 

"It  looks  like  it. " 

"But  it  is  foolish;  it  is  impossible." 

' '  I  know,  and  therefore  I  am  glad  of  it.  It 
will  be  the  making  of  her  as  an  artist. ' '  Then 
he  added,  his  blue  eyes  fiery  in  their  penetra- 
tion :  ' '  That  is  why  you  are  here,  Countess. ' ' 

'  *  Hu  sh !    He  must  not  know. ' ' 

Bubinstein  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and 
at  that  moment  Louboff  finished  and  looked 
round. 

Bubinstein  got  up,  and,  going  to  the  piano- 
forte, put  his  arm  about  her.  "Little  soul, 
you  have  played  well.  Only  play  so  at  the 
concert  and  you  will  do  yourself  honor.  Now," 
he  added,  straightening  himself  and  looking 
at  the  two  auditors  triumphantly,  "now,  for 
a  great  feat:  the  Op.  106  of  Beethoven." 

Louboff  dusted  her  fingers  with  the  lace 
handkerchief  she  had  put  on  the  folded  desk 
of  the  pianoforte,  bit  her  lips,  looked  over  at 
Boris  with  a  smile,  then,  like  a  clarion  call, 
there  rang  out  the  majestic  chords  of  Beetho- 
ven's masterpiece. 


220  THE    LEVELLER 

The  Countess  allowed  her  eyes  to  rest  be- 
nignantly  on  Louboff.  From  time  to  time 
Bubinstein  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair 
with  a  grunt  of  approval  and  an  occasional 
loud  bravo.  Boris  could  feel  every  pulse  in 
his  body  beating  madly.  Louboff  herself 
seemed  like  one  possessed  as  she  grappled 
with  the  enormous  difficulties,  technical  and 
intellectual,  surmounting  all  in  a  fashion  that 
brought  from  Bubinstein  as  she  finished  the 
exclamation:  "Colossal!" 

Trembling,  worked  up  to  pitch  almost  hys- 
terical, Louboff  came  and  stood  up  by  Bubin- 
stein. He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  felt  her 
slight  figure  shaking  in  his  grasp. 

"Louboff,  Louboff,  to-night  I  know  your 
success  is  assured!"  and,  bending  down,  he 
kissed  her  affectionately. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  Countess,  "I 
have  not  heard  in  ages  such  playing  as  yours ; 
never  certainly  from  a  woman.  Let  me  con- 
gratulate you,  too,  child,"  and,  also  taking 
Louboff  in  her  arms,  she  kissed  her  on  both 
cheeks. 

"And  I,"  said  Boris.  "Louboff,"  he  be- 
gan and  hesitated — his  mother  and  Bubin- 
stein were  both  watching  him  with  curious 
eyes — then  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  in 


THE    LEVELLER  221 

spite  of  her  resistance,  and  kissed  them  with 
a  fervor  that  made  the  two  elder  people  seek 
each  other's  eyes  with  a  surreptitious  glance. 

Matve  brought  in  the  tea,  and  for  half  an 
hour  Eubinstein  insisted  on  Louboff  resting. 
Then  she  went  again  to  the  pianoforte  and  for 
more  than  an  hour  played  Chopin. 

It  was  then  that  Countess  Gourowsky 
understood  the  full  extent  of  her  witchery 
and  charm,  the  emotional  beauty  of  soul  in 
her  that  had  so  entirely  enslaved  her  son. 

There  was  but  one  encomium  possible.  She 
played  divinely.  All  the  pathos  and  loveli- 
ness of  Chopin's  were  revealed  with  a  master 
touch,  thrilling  the  hearts  of  her  hearers 
through  and  through. 

"Genius,  artist,  young,  beautiful — yet  a 
Jewess.  Did  ever  Russian  mother  have  so 
difficult  a  task  before  her  I"  the  Countess 
thought  dejectedly.  Then  all  the  old  d'An- 
nenkoff  instincts  awoke  within  her;  the 
finesse  and  diplomacy  that  had  made  the  men 
of  her  race  famous  as  statesmen  for  genera- 
tions came  to  her  assistance.  When  Louboff 
had  finished  the  Countess  went  over  to  her, 
and,  sitting  beside  her,  began  such  eulogies  as 
delighted  the  heart  of  the  young  artist. 

Boris  looked  on  well  pleased.    He  gave  his 


222  THE    LEVELLER 

mother  every  opportunity,  laughing  and  chat- 
ting himself  with  Eubinstein,  who  was  in 
great  good  humor. 

A  little  before  eleven  Matve  announced 
that  the  Countess*  sleigh  was  waiting.  Boris 
stood  up.  "You  will  excuse  me,  mother  dear," 
he  said  somewhat  diffidently,  "I  cannot  re- 
turn with  you,  as  I  have  to  see  Mademoiselle 
Malkiel  home." 

The  Countess  turned  to  him  with  her  sweet- 
est smile.  '  *  Boris, ' '  she  said  quietly,  but  with 
the  air  of  one  who  has  weighed  matters  and 
come  out  the  conqueror,  "I  intend  to  give 
myself  that  pleasure.  Louboff  Antonivna, 
you  will  let  me  be  your  chaperone  ? ' ' 

Blank  dismay  fell  for  a  second  on  the  two 
young  faces,  but  Louboff  was  quickest  to  re- 
cover herself. 

"You  do  me  too  much  honor,  Madame," 
she  faltered. 

"Ma  chere,  the  honor  is  mine,"  responded 
the  Countess  blandly,  as  she  turned  to  bid 
Rubinstein  au  revoir. 

Boris  saw  them  cloaked,  bringing  them  to 
the  sleigh.  On  returning,  he  faced  Rubin- 
stein, who  was  waiting  for  him,  a  peculiar 
smile  on  his  face,  partly  cynical,  wholly  sar- 
castic. 


THE    LEVELLER  223 

"You  are,"  said  Rubinstein,  with  disdain, 
"the  picture  of  woe  and  disappointment. 
"Well,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  be  a  man  and 
bear  up  under  it.  It  comes  to  all  of  us!" 
Then  his  mood  changed  and  he  said  genially, 
"You  don't  know  how  lucky  you  are  to  be 
able  to  feel  so." 

Boris  tried  to  smile  and  laugh  off  the  sal- 
lies of  the  great  composer,  but  his  success 
was  poor.  A  few  minutes  later  he  left  the 
house,  rage  and  disgust  in  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Long  before  his  mother  had  risen,  long  be- 
fore the  household  of  the  Palace  Annenkoff 
had  shaken  off  slumber,  Boris  was  out  and 
away  to  the  Moika. 

At  Louboff 's  house  the  still  sleepy  servants 
greeted  him  with  surprise. 

"Do  not  wake  the  Toarishyna.  Do  not  tell 
her  I  am  here,"  he  said  smiling.  "Just  give 
me  some  tea ;  I  will  wait  for  her." 

Almost  two  hours  later,  when  Louboff  came 
to  the  music-room  for  her  morning  practice, 
she  found  him  there,  smoking  and  reading  the 
morning  papers. 

*  *  Oh,  Boris, ' '  she  said,  her  face  lighting  up 
with  delight,  "how  nice  of  you!  I  feared  I 
was  never  going  to  see  you  again."  Then 
pausing,  she  said  pleadingly  and  half  pout- 
ingly,  "Do  let  us  enjoy  the  remaining  days 
and  be  together  as  much  as  possible;  there 
are  only  four  more.  Oh,  how  lonely  I  was 
yesterday.  I  could  not  work,  I  could  not 
practice,  I  kept  watching  for  you  all  day." 

Boris  could  not  help  contrasting  his  feel- 
ings with  hers,  and  finding  them  identical  his 
spirits  rose. 

224 


THE    LEVELLER  225 

"Yes,"  he  said  eagerly,  "and  was  it  not 
mean  of  mother!  Oh,  Louboff,  when  I  saw 
you  go  off  with  her  it  almost  broke  my  heart. 
I  had  been  looking  forward  all  day  to  that  one 
little  half  hour.  It  was  really  a  crime  on  her 
part."  Then  he  added  anxiously,  "And  how 
did  you  get  along  with  mother  ?  How  did  she 
strike  you?" 

"Boris — well — well,  I  hardly  like  to  say. 
You  see,  dearest,  she  is  your  mother,  and 
therefore  I  hesitate  about  giving  you  my  im- 
pressions ;  they  may  not  be  right. ' ' 

"No,  no;  say  just  what  you  think,"  he  in- 
terrupted eagerly. 

"Well,  she  gave  me  the  impression  of  being 
ires  grande  dame,  and  worldly ;  quite  differ- 
ent to  the  idea  you  had  given  me  in  your  de- 
scription of  her."  Then  Louboff  shivered  a 
little  as  one  who  has  cold,  and  drew  closer  to 
him.  "But  I  don't  want  any  outside  influence 
to  spoil  our  last  days  together,  Boris.  I  mean 
just  to  revel  in  your  love,  forgetting  the 
world,  forgetting  the  future,  forgetting  all 
things  but  that  just  you  are  you,  and  that  we 
are  together." 

It  was  all  that  he  could  get  her  to  say  of  his 
mother  in  the  days  that  ensued.  Adroitly, 
cleverly  and  most  carefully,  she  avoided  all 


226  THE    LEVELLER 

mention  of  the  Countess  in  their  conversation, 
and  on  the  few  remaining  occasions  that  they 
saw  each  other  she  gave  herself  up,  as  she 
said,  to  a  delirium  of  happiness,  born  of  the 
knowledge  that  Boris  loved  her  and  loved  her 
passionately. 

On  the  night  of  the  second  day  of  her  ar- 
rival the  Countess,  who  had  only  seen  her  son 
for  a  moment — he  had  spent  the  day  with 
Louboff — waited  for  him  in  his  study. 

Her  emotions  were  many.  She  sat  in  the 
stillness,  thinking  over  the  past,  remembering 
her  son  as  a  curly-headed  cherub,  who  adored 
her  and  would  not  be  comforted  in  her  ab- 
sence. She  saw  him  a  lad,  devoted,  chival- 
rous, always  dreading  the  inevitable  separa- 
tion that  must  come  when  his  college  days 
began.  She  contrasted  all  that  with  his  pres- 
ent attitude.  He  hardly  seemed  the  same 
Boris.  He  had  slipped  out  of  her  grasp, 
turned  from  her. 

At  last  she  heard  his  footsteps,  and  all  the 
maternal  pride  in  her  heart  awakened.  He 
was  so  handsome,  so  manly. 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  nevertheless  she  said 
reprovingly : 

"You  certainly  keep  late  hours,  Boris, 
When  do  you  get  time  to  study!** 


THE    LEVELLER  227 

"I  am  giving  myself  a  little  holiday  these 
days,"  he  said  moodily.  "Louboff  goes  away 
Monday,  and  it  is  going  to  be  a  long  separa- 
tion I  am  afraid;  almost  three  months  until 
my  vacation.  I  am  going  to  be  very  neglectful 
of  you,  mother,  for  a  little  while,"  he  added, 
coming  up  and  putting  his  hand  on  her  shoulr 
der  affectionately,  "but  I  know  you  under- 
stand the  circumstances  and  will  forgive  me.*' 

The  Countess  felt  anything  but  flattered  at 
his  frank  admission  and  consequent  deduc- 
tion. A  bitter  reproach  rose  to  her  lips,  but, 
looking  up,  she  saw  it  would  be  useless;  his 
face  wore  a  sad,  dreamy,  far-away  expres- 
sion. He  was  not  thinking  of  her,  not  even 
thinking  of  what  he  was  saying,  but  of  the 
new  interest  that  held  his  fancy  so  completely 
captive. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  length,  and  with  af- 
fected carelessness.  "Boys,  Boris,  will  be 
boys,  and  this  first  love  affair  of  yours,  of 
course,  seems  a  most  serious  fact." 

"Mother,"  he  said  abruptly,  his  patience 
not  proof  against  her  doubting  assertion,  "it 
is  a  fact,  a  most  serious  fact ;  you  still  do  not 
realize  that  it  is  a  betrothal,  that  some  day 
you  will  have  to  take  Louboff  to  your  heart 
as  your  son's  wife." 


228  TEE    LEVELLER 

"Now,  Boris,"  she  said,  smiling  indul- 
gently, "do  not  let  us  misunderstand  each 
other.  You  are  not  twenty-one  yet,  and  I  am 
old  and  experienced.  We  will  say  nothing  fur- 
ther about  this  betrothal  till  your  birthday,  a 
year  hence — and  then,  well,  then,  if  you  come 
to  me  and  still  insist,  I  am  ready  to  'take  her 
to  my  heart,7  as  you  say,  and  give  you  both 
my  blessing." 

Boris  flung  his  arms  about  her  boyishly,  his 
face  radiant. 

"Mother!  Dearest,  sweetest,  and  best  of 
mothers,  you  mean  this  ? '  * 

' '  Surely,  my  boy.  * ' 

"Then  it  is  assured,  settled;  and,  oh, 
mother,  I  do  appreciate  your  kindness  and 
greatness  of  heart,  your  love  for  me,  for  I 
know  your  prejudices. ' ' 

"Well,  then,  be  happy,  dear,"  she  said, 
kissing  him;  "so  run  off  now  and  sleep 
soundly. ' '  Then,  a  sudden  thought  coming  to 
her,  the  Countess  said  graciously:  "Since  I 
will  not  see  you  because  of  your  preoccupa- 
tion, why  not  bring  Mademoiselle  Malkiel 
here  to  luncheon,  to  dinner,  or  any  time  you 
like  that  she  is  free?" 

Boris  again  embraced  her  rapturously,  feel- 
ing as  if  all  good  fortune  were  coming  his 


THE  LEVELLER  229 

way,  and,  looking  up  into  his  frank,  bright 
eyes,  the  Countess'  own  fell  in  their  first  con- 
fusion before  those  of  her  son. 

" Mother  has  consented  to  our  betrothal," 
shouted  Boris  to  Louboff  the  moment  of  their 
meeting  next  day. 

Louboff  wrinkled  her  pretty  eyebrows. 

' '  Consented ! ' '  she  whispered  in  awe.  Then 
she  listened  to  his  story,  and  smiled  wisely. 
She  made  no  remark. 

"You  must  come  to  luncheon  to-day,"  he 
finished.  "You  are  expected." 

"To-day?  Friday?  Oh,  no,  Boris,  not  to- 
day ;  I  would  not  care  to  enter  your  house  for 
the  first  time  on  a  Friday. ' ' 

"But  it  would  not  be  the  first  time,"  he 
said  quickly.  "You  were  there  before;  you 
know  it  is  the  house  of  my  uncle.  So,  Louboff, 
sweetheart,  run  and  get  on  your  things  at 
once.  Mother  expects  us.  Put  on  your  pretty 
heliotrope  frock — the  one  I  first  saw  you  in — 
and  wear  your  sable  cloak,  the  one  with  the 
diamond  clasps, ' '  he  added  eagerly. 

"Boris,  at  times  you  are  such  a  boy,"  she 
said  tenderly,  and,  drawing  down  his  head, 
she  kissed  him  on  the  mouth  and  then,  Rus- 
sian fashion,  on  each  eyelid. 

She  followed  his  advice,  however,  as  he 


230  THE  REVELLER 

noted  with  glee,  and  they  went  at  once  to  the 
Annenkoff  palace.  Vera  d' Annenkoff  was 
there,  and  the  moment  Boris'  mother  caught 
sight  of  Louboff  she  rose  and  greeted  her  cor- 
dially. Then,  with  her  arm  about  her,  led  her 
forward  to  her  niece. 

"Vera,"  she  said  smiling,  "this  is  Made- 
moiselle Louboff  Malkiel.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  introduce  her  more  correctly  as  the  be- 
trothed of  Boris,  but  you  young  people  ought 
not  to  betroth  yourselves  too  readily,  so  I  will 
merely  say  that  in  all  probability  you  will 
know  her  one  day  as  your  cousin. ' ' 

Vera  d' Annenkoff  had  been  trained  in  her 
father's  way.  She  showed  no  surprise,  not 
even  by  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid. 

"I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,"  she  said  in 
easy  fashion,  ' '  and  I  congratulate  you  both. ' ' 
She  looked  over  at  Boris  and  smiled  know- 
ingly. "She  has  the  most  beautiful  face  I 
ever  laid  eyes  on,"  she  whispered  a  few  mo- 
ments later  to  the  gratified  young  man,  as 
they  followed  the  Countess  and  Louboff  in  to 
luncheon. 

The  luncheon  was  pleasant  and  the  attitude 
of  the  Countess  charming.  Louboff  was  forced 
to  leave  early ;  when  the  Countess  saw  her  de- 
part in  the  company  of  Boris  she  said  gaily: 


THE    LEVELLER  231 

*  *  Now,  remember,  Louboff  Antonivna,  come 
to  luncheon  or  dinner;  you  will  always  find 
me.  You  know  it  is  the  only  way  I  can  get  a 
glimpse  at  all  of  my  son. ' '  Then  she  bent  and 
kissed  the  lovely  flushed  face,  with  its  glory 
of  youth  and  happiness,  and  said,  turning  to 
Boris:  "You  hear,  Boris?  Insist  on  her  com- 
ing." 

On  Saturday  evening,  much  against  her 
will,  Boris  brought  Louboff  to  dinner,  and 
just  as  they  were  rising  from  the  table  a  serv- 
ant came,  asking  Boris  to  attend  on  his  Ex- 
cellency, Count  d'Annenkoff,  for  a  few  min- 
utes. 

Boris  excused  himself  and  went  unsuspect- 
ingly. Then,  the  Countess  knowing  the  coast 
was  clear  for  an  hour  at  least,  got  the  long 
talk  she  wanted  with  Louboff. 

She  was  all  kindness  and  delicacy,  and  a 
very  real  and  true  affection  seemed  to  look 
out  of  her  handsome  eyes,  so  like  those  of 
Boris  in  color,  so  unlike  in  expression,  as  she 
took  Louboff 's  hand  protectingly. 

"I  speak,  my  dear,"  she  said  softly,  "as 
your  friend,  but  more  especially  as  the  mother 
of  Boris."  Then  quietly,  insidiously,  cun- 
ningly, she  laid  before  the  heartbroken  Lou- 
boff what  the  consequences  of  any  marriage 


232  THE    LEVELLER 

between  herself  and  Boris  would  be — his  com- 
plete and  absolute  ruin,  socially  and  finan- 
cially. 

Louboff  needed  no  convincing ;  she  knew  all 
that  the  Countess  had  to  tell  her — she  knew 
even  more  about  her  Russia  and  the  Govern- 
ment than  the  elder  woman  did ;  but  when  the 
latter  said  softly:  "A  woman  is  always  older 
than  a  man  at  your  age ;  you  have  twice  the 
wisdom  of  Boris ;  I  leave  the  whole  matter  in 
your  hands  and  to  your  decision.'*  Louboff 
could  have  screamed  aloud  in  her  agony. 

And  Louboff  in  her  youth,  in  her  generosity, 
and  in  her  love,  was  as  wax  in  the  hands  of 
the  Countess,  who  had  behind  her  pleadings 
all  the  wiles  and  cunning  of  her  forty  years' 
experience. 

"Now,"  finished  the  Countess,  "to  come  be- 
tween a  great  love — even  if  it  would  save  my 
son  from  ruin — is  something  I  could  not  do, 
but  Louboff  Antonivna,  what  is  real  love? 
"What  is  great  love?  What  is  true  love ?  Is  it 
not  that  which  sacrifices  self  for  the  benefit 
of  the  one  beloved  ?  Life  is  so  short,  so  short. 
See  me ;  I  loved  Boris 'father ;  we  were  happy, 
ah,  so  happy;  but  now  I  am  alone,  and  it  is 
all  a  memory,  and  all  the  bitterer,  I  assure 
you,  because  a  memory  of  great  happiness.  I 


THE    LEVELLER  233 

do  not  hesitate,  my  child,  to  say  that  many, 
many  times  when  my  sufferings  were  great- 
est I  regretted  that  I  gave  way  to  the  love  that 
was  later  to  cause  me  such  anguish,  and  that 
in  the  beginning  I  did  not  stifle  it.  We  are 
not  made  for  happiness — that  comes  in  the 
life  beyond,  and  comes  to  us  best  through  sac- 
rifice. ' ' 

Louboff  listened  dry-eyed.  It  was  all  as  she 
had  told  Boris  a  hundred  times.  A  marriage 
between  them  was  impossible,  absolutely  im- 
possible, and  she  thanked  God  in  her  heart 
she  had  her  art.  "  Without  that  it  would  be 
suicide,"  she  told  herself  in  the  abjectness  of 
her  misery. 

"Do  not  spoil  the  last  remaining  days  of 
your  stay,"  went  on  the  soft,  sweetly  modu- 
lated voice  of  the  Countess,  with  its  mellow 
timbre.  * l  Let  him  believe  in  the  possibility  of 
blue  roses,  if  he  will,  but  for  your  own  good, 
and  for  his,  write  to  him  from  Berlin  and 
give  him  back  his  troth. 

"It  will  be  cruel,  it  will  rack  his  heart;  but 
in  the  end,  as  I  see  it,  as  I  know  you  see  it — 
and  as  all  must  see  it,  for  fate  has  so  willed 
it — it  is  irremediable :  the  only  kindness  you 
can  do  him. 

"And  then  you  are  both  young,  and  youth 


234  THE    LEVELLER 

has  so  mucli  vitality  with  which  to  fight  suf- 
fering. Louboff,  I  know  you  are  true  and 
honest ;  I  know  you  realize  all  the  "pain  this 
costs  me,  but  I  am  his  mother,  you,  Louboff, 
his  sweetheart.  We  have  this  one  motive  in 
common,  his  welfare,  and  it  is  ours  equally, 
because  we  love  him." 

"I  will  do  as  you  say,"  Louboff  whispered 
after  an  agonized  pause.  "But  oh,  my  God, 
Madame!"  she  added  wildly,  "just  for  one 
moment  let  me  be  alone. ' ' 

The  Countess  rose  and  kissed  her.  Louboff 
could  feel  one  heavy  tear  fall  on  her  cheek 
from  the  older  woman's  eyes.  Then  the  Coun- 
tess left  her,  closed  the  door  softly,  and  waited 
outside  for  Boris  to  come. 

Half  an  hour  later  someone  tapped  at  the 
door.  Louboff  was  at  the  pianoforte,  pouring 
out  all  her  heart  in  the  sorrow-laden  har- 
monies of  a  Chopin  Prelude,  and  there  Boris 
found  her. 

Her  face  was  ghastly,  her  eyes  wild  and 
gleaming  with  strange  light  playing  in  their 
sombre  depths. 

When  she  had  finished  the  Prelude,  Boris 
went  up  to  her. 

"You  are  tired,  dearest.  Play  no  more," 
he  said  gently,  thinking  that  memories  of 


THE  LEVELLER  235 

Michel  caused  by  the  poignant  melancholy  of 
the  music  were  haunting  her. 

"Yes,  Boris,  I  am  tired,"  she  said  simply, 
'  *  take  me  home. ' ' 

"Where  is  my  mother?"  he  asked,  looking 
round  in  the  shadows  of  the  room. 

"If  she  has  gone,"  said  Louboff  firmly, "do 
not  disturb  her.  You  can  make  my  adieux. 
She  was  here  till  a  little  while  ago." 

"Yes,  just  fancy,"  he  said  aggrievedly, 
"Alexei  Alexeiwitch  was  upstairs  and  I  had 
to  take  the  fourth  hand  at  whist.  I  played  so 
abominably  on  purpose  that  they  finally  sent 
me  off ;  otherwise,  I  suppose,  I  would  be  play- 
ing still.  My  thoughts  were  with  you  all  the 
time, ' '  he  added  fondly. 

Louboff  shivered. 

"Come,  Boris,"  she  said,  her  face  growing 
whiter  and  whiter.  "I  am  tired,  dreadfully 
tired,  sweetheart." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Boris  had  warned  Louboff  the  day  before 
to  have  nothing  to  do  on  Sunday:  that  that 
day  must  belong  to  him,  and  he  would  call  for 
her  at  noon.  "It  is  a  surprise,"  he  said  in 
his  bright  boyish  way,  *  *  and  I  will  not  tell  you 
anything  about  it  till  the  time  comes." 

Louboff  despite  her  grief  and  misery  had 
not  forgotten.  She  had  passed  a  sleepless 
night,  a  night  so  wretched  that  many  times 
only  the  sorrow  to  Boris  kept  her  thoughts 
from  running  on  self-destruction.  In  the 
morning  toward  eleven  she  roused  herself, 
dressed  carefully,  then  drinking  several  small 
glasses  of  cordial,  some  ten  minutes  before 
twelve  stood  ready  waiting  for  him. 

A  gaily  decorated  sleigh  came  over  the 
bridge ;  the  driver,  big  and  stalwart,  swathed 
to  the  teeth  in  furs  and  driving  the  three 
horses  abreast  skilfully,  she  recognized  as 
Ivan,  one  of  the  d'Annenkoff  coachmen;  and 
Boris,  in  his  sables,  jumped  out  of  the  sleigh 
the  moment  the  horses  drew  up  before  the 
door. 

"A  day  in  the  Islands,  Louboff,  that  is  my 

236 


THE    LEVELLER  237 

surprise,"  he  said  gaily,  as  lie  brought  in 
with  him  a  whiff  of  the  cold,  bracing  outside 
air  and  kissed  her  with  lips  icy  of  touch.  Then 
he  laughed  at  her  affected  pleasure.  ' '  I  have 
three  of  my  uncle's  fastest  horses;  furs 
enough  to  smother  in,  and  luncheon  is 
ordered.  Best  of  all  you  are  mine,  sweetheart, 
for  the  day,  and  no  one  can  infringe  on  a  mo- 
ment of  our  time." 

With  a  mighty  effort  Louboff  threw  off  her 
gloom  and  her  sadness;  the  spirit  of  Boris 
was  exhilarating.  She  determined  that,  come 
what  would,  that  one  day  at  least  she  would 
snatch  from  the  cruelty  of  fate — for  one  day 
she  would  let  no  thought  of  the  future  disturb 
the  certainty  of  her  present  happiness. 

She  was  cloaked  in  a  few  minutes,  and  they 
entered  the  sleigh  with  much  difficulty,  so 
restive  and  spirited  were  the  horses;  then 
they  dashed  into  the  Nevsky,  through  the  wide 
semicircle  of  the  Winter  Palace,  and  all 
along  the  Palace  Quay  at  a  breakneck  speed 
and  over  the  bridge  to  the  Kamenoi  Ostroff 
road. 

The  air  was  like  wine  in  its  intoxicating  ef- 
fect, the  big,  blue-tasseled  net  kept  the  snow, 
ground  to  a  powder  under  the  feet  of  the  mag- 
nificent Orloffs,  from  hitting  their  faces,  the 


238  THE    LEVELLER 

whole  earth  seemed  to  fly  from  under  them, 
and  the  strange,  delirious  sensation  of  surg- 
ing through  clouds  intoxicated  their  senses. 

They  entered  the  great  forests,  the  trunks 
of  the  gigantic  pines  covered  with  icicles 
showing  black  as  ink  against  the  white  of  the 
landscape.  At  last,  half  frozen  in  spite  of 
their  heavy  furs,  they  drew  up  before  the 
Chalet,  where  Boris  had  ordered  luncheon. 

During  the  meal  he  further  confided  his  se- 
cret to  take  her  to  see  the  Palace  Gourowsky 
near  by.  "We  rent  it  out  yearly,  now,"  he 
said  candidly,  "for  the  sake  of  the  revenue, 
but  when  we  are  married,  Louboff,  and  I  have 
my  Government  position,  why,  of  course,  we 
will  occupy  it  in  the  summer.  '  * 

Louboff  felt  she  could  say  nothing,  but  gave 
him  a  sympathetic  look  and  smiled. 

He  began  to  talk  of  the  future.  She  lis- 
tened as  one  who  hears  a  story  read. 

"Why  do  you  say  nothing?'*  he  asked  sud- 
denly. ' '  You  have  no  enthusiasm. ' ' 

"I  do  not  see  it.  I  do  not  see  it,"  she  an- 
swered sadly. 

"Oh,  you  pessimist,  come  and  be  per- 
suaded," he  laughed,  rising,  luncheon  being 
over.  They  set  off  again  in  the  white  stillness 
of  the  outside  world ;  no  sound  but  the  trot  of 


THE    LEVELLER  239 

the  horses'  feet,  the  rattle  of  the  silver  har- 
ness and  the  fusic  of  the  silver  sleighbells. 

Above  the  sky  was  intensely  blue,  the  sun 
shone  brilliantly,  and  Boris  enthusiastically 
pointed  out  landmark  after  landmark,  where 
Louboff  could  only  see  icicles,  snow  or  trees. 
Then  they  reached  the  palace,  all  boarded  up 
and  desolate  looking.  They  were  expected, 
for  a  man  in  sheepskin  brought  them  inside, 
and  the  big  stove  in  the  dining-room  was 
lighted.  Then  Boris  took  her  all  over  the 
house — one  of  the  showplaces  of  the  Islands. 

In  the  picture  gallery,  where  hung  scores  of 
dead  and  gone  Gourowskys,  he  pointed  out  a 
vacant  place.  "Your  picture  will  be  there," 
Louboff,"  he  said  fondly,  "painted  by  Mark- 
off,  and  you  will  be  one  of  the  loveliest  of  the 
Countesses." 

He  insisted  on  showing  her  the  garden; 
everything  was  under  snow,  but  he  made  the 
wintry  landscape  bloom.  He  pointed  out  great 
clumps  of  snow-buried  bushes.  "These  are 
lilacs,"  he  said,  "white  and  violet;  their  odor 
strong  enough  to  make  one  faint.  In  a  few 
months  more  it  is  a  paradise  here :  the  labur- 
nums will  be  golden  and  the  ground  one  huge 
bouquet  of  double  violets  and  white  narcissi. 
Oh,  if  you  were  only  here ! ' ' 


240  TEE    LEVELLER 

11  Boris, "  she  said  quickly,  "  gather  me  a 
bunch  of  violets  here  when  springtime  comes, 
and,  even  though  they  wither  on  the  way,  send 
them  to  me  as  a  remembrance  of  to-day." 

* '  No, ' '  he  said  eagerly,  * '  as  a  token  of  days 
to  come. ' ' 

After  that,  through  miles  and  miles  of  for- 
est, they  drove  madly,  till  the  breath  seemed 
to  leave  their  bodies  and  the  icy  atmosphere 
froze  their  lashes  so  that  they  had  difficulty  in 
seeing. 

The  desolation  of  the  magnificent  winter 
scene  was  awe  inspiring,  and  when  the  de- 
clining sun  sent  its  purple  and  fiery  colors 
over  sky  and  land  they  were  speechless  with 
an  overpowering  sense  of  wonder  and  delight 
at  the  grandeur  before  them. 

The  light  faded,  rose  and  scarlet  and  helio- 
trope, with  shafts  of  gold  and  flame  color  shot 
through  and  through,  gleamed  through  the 
blackness  of  the  trees,  gradually  disappear- 
ing to  shadows.  It  grew  still  colder,  the  sky 
bluer,  the  gloom  of  night  succeeded  the  opal- 
escence  of  evening  and  the  stars  came  out  in 
thousands. 

Boris  had  his  cheek  against  hers.  As  they 
rushed  onward  in  the  blue  gloom  he  was  whis- 
pering love  words  that  made  her  heart  break 


THE  LEVELLER  241 

and  tortured  her.  At  times  it  seemed  as  if  it 
were  all  a  dream,  a  dream  at  once  beautiful 
and  horrible,  a  dream  that  paralyzed  reason 
and  gave  her  the  delirium  of  life's  fullest  emo- 
tions. 

They  had  dinner  at  the  Chalet.  Afterward 
the  gay  group  of  gypsies,  that  are  a  feature 
of  life  in  the  Islands,  gathered  around  them 
and  Louboff  saw  their  graceful  dances  for  the 
first  time  and  listened  to  their  playing  and 
singing. 

All  at  once  the  artist  in  her  woke.  She  be- 
came interested,  she  forgot  the  parting  of  the 
morrow.  The  music  of  Liszt,  of  Brahms,  with 
newer,  deeper  meaning,  stimulated  her  intel- 
lectual senses.  She  asked  that  the  pianoforte 
be  opened,  and  for  a  while  the  gypsies  sat  or 
stood  around,  wild  with  enthusiasm  over  her 
playing. 

It  was  a  night  of  delirium  and  joy.  Boris 
brought  her  home  at  midnight,  and  the  wild 
drive  through  the  darkness  of  the  woods  and 
then  through  the  streets  of  the  city  that  glit- 
tered and  sparkled  as  if  diamond  strewn  was 
dream-like ;  Boris  held  her  in  a  clasp  that  love 
alone  can  give. 

They  reached  the  Nevsky,  and  the  bells  of 
the  city  churches  broke  on  the  stillness.  ' '  Oh, 


242  THE    LEVELLER 

Boris,  it  is  over!"  she  cried  in  anguish,  as 

they  tolled  to  her  ears  like  a  funeral  knell. 

"Sweetheart,'*  he  cried  passionately,  "it 
has  only  begun ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  day  of  LoubofFs  departure  arrived. 
Boris  was  with  her  early.  He  found  her  flur- 
ried and  agitated,  a  dozen  things  claiming  her 
attention  at  once.  Everything  in  her  music- 
room  had  been  boxed  and  packed  the  day  be- 
fore, but  other  things  remaining  to  be  done 
seemed  endless.  He  could  hardly  get  a  second 
of  her  attention. 

Then  it  was  time  to  drive  to  the  station,  and 
once  there  they  found  the  place  besieged. 
Eelatives,  friends,  schoolmates,  artists:  they 
were  all  there  to  wish  her  godspeed;  only  a 
few  of  them  knew  of  her  exile,  but  all  of  them 
knew  she  was  starting  on  her  career  as  an 
artist. 

Boris  found  himself  elbowed  away,  pushed 
aside,  lost  in  the  wave  of  humanity  that 
surged  and  thronged  about  her.  If  he  tried 
to  reach  her,  her  friends  would  grasp  on  all 
sides  and  claim  her  instant  attention.  And 
she,  bewildered,  excited,  almost  hysterical, 
seemed  to  have  no  will  of  her  own,  to  follow, 
answer,  listen  at  random. 

It  was  almost  the  moment  of  parting;  sud- 
denly she  extricated  herself. 


243 


244  THE    LEVELLER 

"Boris!"  she  cried  despairingly,  as  she 
stretched  out  her  arms  toward  him ;  he  caught 
her  in  a  grasp  of  iron,  "Oh,  Boris,  Boris!" 
she  wailed  passionately,  then  a  deadly  faint- 
ness  overcame  her. 

They  led  her  to  her  compartment  in  the 
train;  Boris  knelt  at  her  feet  and  kissed  her 
hand  repeatedly.  He  was  utterly  unconscious 
of  his  surroundings;  he  saw  nothing  but 
Louboff 's  face,  deathly  pale,  the  half-closed 
eyes  that  looked  agonizedly  into  his  own.  A 
hand  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder ;  they  told 
him  the  train  was  starting,  and  bending  over 
her  he  screamed  out  to  her  to  kiss  him;  a 
faint  pressure  alone  of  her  lips  answered  the 
hot,  maddened  hunger  of  his  own. 

He  was  dragged  from  the  carriage,  the 
train  steamed  off,  and  in  a  haze  he  found  him- 
self surrounded  by  strangers,  all  friends  of 
hers,  who  were  weeping  loudly  at  her  depar- 
ture. 

He  pushed  past  them  to  his  carriage,  hot 
tears  stinging  his  eyes,  and  the  desolation  in 
his  heart  almost  unbearable. 

It  was  the  carriage  that  had  taken  her  to 
the  station,  and  the  perfume  of  the  roses  she 
had  carried — the  roses  he  had  given  her — still 
lingered  about  it.  He  stooped  and  saw  some 


THE    LEVELLER  245 

of  the  frail  petals  at  his  feet.  The  reality  of 
her  departure  came  to  him  as  a  sudden  blow. 
Every  moment  made  it  more  real. 

He  began  to  curse  himself  as  a  fool  and  an 
imbecile.  He  had  wanted  to  say  so  much  to 
her ;  he  had  planned  it  all,  had  it  all  in  readi- 
ness, but  he  had  left  it  all  unsaid.  Things 
came  back  to  him  in  a  flash.  ''Have  I  made 
it  all  plain?"  he  asked  himself.  "Does  she 
understand?  Does  she  know  that  I  love  her 
as  no  woman  has  ever  been  loved  before?" 
Again  and  again  he  execrated  himself.  "Why 
did  I  not  take  the  journey  with  her?"  he 
queried  of  himself  dejectedly.  "Why  let  her 
travel  alone?"  Then  saner  thoughts  ensued. 
"I  will  write  to  her,"  he  told  himself,  "the 
first  moment  I  get  home,"  and  he  began  to 
turn  over  and  over  in  his  mind  the  phrases  he 
would  use  in  this,  his  first  love  letter.  "Yes, 
I  will  write  to  her. ' ' 

"What  did  you  say?" 

It  was  Rubinstein,  his  head  in  at  the  open 
window,  who  had  put  the  question.  Boris 
turned,  the  rose  leaves  still  in  his  hand,  con- 
scious of  uttering  his  thoughts  aloud,  and  met 
the  sympathetic  gaze  of  Anton  Eubinstein. 

' '  There  are  too  many  women  here, ' '  said  he 
quickly.  "Take  me  home  in  your  carriage." 


246  THE    LEVELLER 

Boris  was  inwardly  angry  at  the  interrup- 
tion of  his  thoughts,  but  he  said  affably 
enough:  "With  the  greatest  pleasure,  Anton 
Gregoriewitch. ' ' 

Once  inside  the  carriage  Rubinstein  lit  his 
cigarette  and  stared  before  him,  then  he 
turned  and  put  his  hand  affectionately  on 
Boris*  shoulder. 

"Boris  Alexanderowitch,  you  give  me 
hope. ' ' 

"It"  Boris  turned  his  troubled  eyes  ques- 
tioningly. 

"Yes,  you  do  not  understand;  but  you  and 
Louboff,  this  love  affair  of  yours !  Ah,  only 
the  other  day  I  said;  Art  is  dead  because 
there  are  no  Juliets  and  no  Eomeos.  Well,  I 
was  wrong,  I  was  wrong;  you  two,  you  love 
and  you  suffer  as  lovers  should,  as  lovers  did. 
Boris  Alexanderowitch,  as  I  watch  you  I  feel 
young  again,  hopeful,  I  hear  melodies,  my 
fingers  itch  for  a  pencil." 

Boris  turned  to  him  in  amazement,  the  cold 
analysis  of  the  musician's  reasoning  sickened 
him;  the  fact  that  any  one  could  find  satis- 
faction in  the  misery  he  was  then  enduring, 
and  that  he  knew  Louboff  was  enduring, 
caused  him  intense  anger,  pain  and  irritation. 

"Ah,  you  artists!"  he  ejaculated  bitterly. 


TEE    LEVELLER  247 

"Yes,  we  artists, "  assented  Eubinstein 
meditatively.  "This  is  a  prosaic  age,  an  age 
of  bayonets  and  Mammon  worship ;  the  world 
nowadays  is  never  well  lost  for  love ;  women 
forget  themselves  only  when  the  title  deeds 
have  passed  into  their  keeping,  and  men 
think  more  of  a  dot  than  they  do  of  bright 
eyes.  It  is  no  longer  an  age  of  romance:  it 
is  an  age  of  reason,  an  age  of  calculation.  I 
feel  out  of  tune  with  it  all,  and  I  ask  myself  so 
often,  have  I  been  born  too  early  or  too  late?" 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch,  are  you  not 
happy?"  Boris  had  asked  the  question  un- 
consciously, then  he  halted;  Rubinstein's 
moods  were  uncertain.  He  was  quite  capable 
of  taking  umbrage. 

"Happy!  Boris  Alexandero witch,  what  is 
happiness  or  unhappiness?  Do  you  know! 
You  believe  yourself  unhappy  now.  Well, 
twenty,  fifty  years  hence  you  will  realize  that 
your  very  happiness  lay  in  this  your  present 
power  for  unhappiness." 

"You  mean "  began  Boris. 

'  *  This,  you  will  realize  too  late,  you  cannot 
now.  Ah,  the  whole  gist  is  in  this  little 
phrase,  'Si  jeunesse  savait,  si  vieillesse  pou- 
vait.'  Boris  Alexandero  witch,  when  you  can 
apply  this  to  yourself,  when  you  are  old,  that 


248  THE    REVELLER 

is,  you  will  not  really  know  happiness  till 
then."  Bubinstein 's  face  was  sphinx-like  in 
its  sarcasm.  He  paused;  then  he  laughed,  a 
laugh  that  sounded  mirthless  and  mocking. 

"Here  is  the  Conservatory,  Boris  Alexan- 
derowitch;  many  thanks  for  your  kindness. 
Au  revoir.  Will  you  dine  with  me  to-night?" 

"Some  other  night,  Anton  Gregoriewitch, 
please." 

"Ah,  indulge  yourself,  indulge  yourself, 
my  Borneo.  There  is  no  luxury  greater  than 
that  of  grief." 

As  Boris  saw  Bubinstein  enter  the  Con- 
servatory, the  figure  of  the  great  composer, 
old,  shabby,  pathetic,  drooping,  shambling 
along  in  fur  boots  and  shouba,  his  shaggy 
locks  just  showing  under  his  cap,  it  struck 
terror  into  Boris'  soul. 

"What  does  it  all  amount  to?"  he  thought 
dejectedly.  "There  goes  Bubinstein;  he  has 
had  the  homage  of  the  world ;  men  and  women 
have  spoiled  him  from  his  birth  upward ;  for- 
tune has  favored  him  in  all  ways;  yet  his 
cynicism  blasts  one's  soul.  Unhappiness !  yes, 
I  know  it.  But  my  unhappiness  is  negative ; 
it  is  only  impatience;  impatience  of  the  hap- 
piness to  be  mine  soon.  Will  the  summer 
never  come?" 


THE    LEVELLER  249 

When  Boris  reached  home  the  household 
was  just  preparing  for  dinner.  Two  footmen 
were  laying  the  table.  It  wanted  but  three- 
quarters  of  six.  He  commenced  his  letter; 
then  the  thought  that  he  would  have  to  eat, 
would  have  to  talk,  would  have  to  listen  to  the 
conversation  of  others  dismayed  him.  He  left 
the  letter  unfinished  and  went  out. 

He  went  toward  the  Moika,  and,  standing 
on  the  bridge,  stared  at  the  uncurtained  win- 
dows of  what  had  once  been  Louboff's  home. 

"Oh,  Michel,  Michel,"  he  thought,  "only 
for  you  she  would  be  here  still!  Or,  even  if 
she  were  now  on  her  way  to  Berlin,  she  would 
be  able  to  come  back,  and  things  would  be  so 
different." 

Beneath  and  above  the  apartment  of  the 
Malkiels  light  shone  in  the  windows.  Boris 
could  see  shaded  lamps,  outlines  of  furniture, 
figures  passing  and  repassing ;  only  in  Loub- 
off 's  home  was  everything  dark  and  desolate. 

The  sight  further  unnerved  him.  He  re- 
turned home,  and,  when  passing  his  mother's 
boudoir,  she  called  to  him,  he  affected  not  to 
hear  her,  but  passed  on.  Then  he  sat  down 
to  his  writing  table,  and,  after  covering  the 
photograph  of  Louboff  with  kisses,  settled 
down  to  finish  his  letter. 


250  THE    LEVELLER 

Everything  was  deadly  still  in  the  apart- 
ment. The  ticking  of  the  clock  irritated  him ; 
he  was  about  to  rise  and  go  for  a  walk  when 
the  rustle  of  silk  sounded  in  the  doorway,  and 
his  mother  came  forward  and  placed  a  cool, 
soft  hand  on  his  fevered  brow. 

The  letter  lay  addressed  before  him.  She 
glanced  at  it. 

"Writing  already  to  your  sweetheart,  my 
boy?  I  sympathize  deeply  with  you;  but 
brace  up.  You  have  not  eaten  anything  to- 
day; you  are  haggard  and  disheveled.  Let 
me  send  you  something ;  or,  perhaps,  you  will 
come  to  my  boudoir  and  eat  it  there." 

"Not  to-night,  mother  dear;  I  do  not  care 
to  eat,  and  I  am  bad  company. ' ' 

She  understood  the  subtle  appeal,  and  said 
quickly : 

"Well,  I  will  leave  you  then.  Shall  I  have 
your  letter  posted  T  I  am  sending  some  of  my 
own." 

' '  Please,  mother.  '  * 

She  stooped  and  kissed  him,  and,  going  out, 
went  directly  to  her  brother's  apartment. 

He  smiled  as  she  entered. 

"Well,  fellow  conspirator?"  he  said  glee- 
fully. 

"The  boy  is  demented.    He  has  not  eaten 


THE    LEVELLER  251 

anything,  and  he  looks  half  crazy.  See  this 
letter,  already."  She  threw  the  letter  on  the 
table  before  him. 

The  Count  took  it  up,  surveyed  it  with  a 
grim  smile,  then  tore  it  into  a  dozen  frag- 
ments, and,  going  to  the  stove,  placed  it  amid 
the  live  coals. 

"God!"  said  the  Countess,  aghast,  as  she 
took  one  step  toward  him.  "What  are  you 
doing?  If  she  should  write  him;  if  he  should 
find  out!" 

Count  d'Annenkoff  raised  his  eyebrows  in 
reproach. 

"Don't  you  give  me  credit  for  some 
diplomacy?"  he  asked  shortly.  "I  have  ar- 
ranged for  all  that.  Absolute  instructions 
have  been  sent  to  the  telegraph  office  and  to 
the  postoffice.  No  letters  of  hers  will  be  de- 
livered ;  no  letters  of  his  will  be  sent  till  they 
pass  my  personal  supervision.  She  is  a  Ni- 
hilist. She  can  be  grateful  to  Rubinstein  that 
we  ever  allowed  her  to  leave  the  country." 

The  Countess  sighed.  "It  seems  terrible," 
she  said  shudderingly,  "but  I  suppose  it  is 
best.  The  thing  has  to  be  nipped  in  the  bud. ' ' 

"My  dear,"  laughed  the  Count,  sarcastic- 
ally, "nipped  in  the  bud?  I  intend  to  see 
it  torn  up  by  the  root. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"Is  there  a  letter  for  me?  Is  there  a  tele- 
gram for  me?"  In  the  days  that  followed 
these  were  the  constant  demands  made  by 
Boris  Alexanderowitch. 

The  second  day  passing  and  no  news  reach- 
ing him  from  Louboff,  he  showed  his  anxiety 
plainly. 

1 '  She  was  so  ill,  mother,  when  she  left ;  I  do 
hope  nothing  serious  is  the  matter.  She  has 
had  so  much  trouble  lately  and  has  borne  up 
so  wonderfully;  and  working  so  hard,  too. 
The  excitement  of  giving  a  concert  in  a 
city  like  Berlin  is  enough  to  shake  one's 
nerves. ' ' 

"I  feel,"  he  cried  on  the  third  day,  "as  if  I 
ought  to  follow  her!  Why  should  I  not?  I 
really  ought  to  be  in  Berlin.  Why  did  I  not 
think  of  that  in  time?  I  should  be  there  to 
see  her  make  her  debut. ' ' 

His  mother  pacified  him  as  best  she  could. 
Traveling  just  then,  with  so  much  snow  all 
over  the  country,  was  necessarily  slow  and 
retarded,  the  telegraph  wires  were  down,  the 
mails  delayed. 


THE    LEVELLER  253 

All  that  she  could  say  or  do  she  said  and 
did ;  and  the  days  went  on  till  it  was  the  fifth 
day;  but  still  no  answer  came  to  his  tele- 
gram and  letters. 

On  the  seventh  day,  the  day  of  her  concert, 
they  brought  him  a  letter.  His  mother  herself 
left  it  on  his  desk  one  evening  when  he  was 
out,  and  she  waited  for  his  return  anxiously 
in  one  of  the  rooms  close  by.  The  letter  was 
written  on  reaching  Berlin,  and  had  been 
delayed  by  the  storm. 

Well  as  his  mother  was  conscious  of  what 
was  coming — with  Count  d'Annenkoff  she 
had  read  it — she  was  not  prepared  for  the 
whirlwind  of  fury  into  which  the  letter  seemed 
to  throw  him. 

The  bell  from  his  study  rang  violently;  it 
seemed  as  if  he  were  breaking  the  furniture 
inside.  His  mother  reached  the  door  first,  a 
servant  behind  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried,  with  real  surprise 
in  her  voice  on  seeing  his  face  distorted  and 
flushed  with  anger  and  passion. 

"I  am  going  to  Berlin !  I  am  going  to  Ber- 
lin to-night!"  he  said  hoarsely;  then,  turning 
to  the  servant,  he  added  commandingly : 

"Andre,  pack  up  my  things  at  once." 

"Why,  my  boy,  what  is  this?"  said  the 


254  THE    LEVELLER 

Countess  soothingly,  as  she  motioned  the  serv- 
ant away.  "No  train  starts  to-night  for  Ber- 
lin, and  if  it  did,  there  is  your  passport  to  be 
attended  to,  and  at  quickest  that  will  take  a 
few  days." 

"A  few  days?  It  must  be  attended  to  at 
once,"  he  said  decisively.  "What  good  is  it 
to  have  an  uncle  who  is  Minister  of  the  In- 
terior otherwise  I ' ' 

"But,  my  boy,  what  is  it?  Is  Louboff  Anto- 
nivna  ill,  or  what  I ' ' 

"I  do  not  know — I  do  not  know — unless  it 
is  some  hellish  plot!"  he  cried,  misery  in  his 
voice  and  manner  such  as  she  never  suspected 
her  son  capable  of  feeling.  "Some  hellish 
plot,"  he  reiterated  more  loudly.  "Here! 
read  her  letter.  She  never  wrote  that  of  her 
own  accord,  never ;  some  one  has  forced  her  to 
it ;  or  else,  or  else — she  must  be  mad ! ' ' 

The  day  following  Count  d'Annenkoff  had 
a  stormy  scene  with  his  nephew.  The  latter 
insisted  on  a  passport  that  hour ;  the  former 
was  not  to  be  pushed.  He  argueti  that  there 
was  no  immediate  hurry,  that  Boris  could 
very  well  wait  till  the  usual  red  tape  had  taken 
its  course,  and  that  in  any  case  he  could  not 
interfere  in  so  small  a  matter. 

Boris  suddenly  remembered  Louboff 's  fore- 


THE  LEVELLER  255 

bodings,  her  pessimism,  her  apathy,  her  con- 
stant reiteration  about  the  future — always 
gloomy,  unhopeful,  sad. 

"Well,"  he  said  shortly,  "if  I  cannot  have 
my  passport  to-day,  let  it  be  forwarded  to  me 
at  the  frontier :  for  I  start  to-day.  This  after- 
noon I  leave  St.  Petersburg, ' '  he  cried  loudly, 
manly  determination  in  his  young  voice,  a 
challenge  in  his  glance. 

Count  d'Annenkoff  smiled.  It  suited  his 
plans  exactly  to  have  Boris  leave  St.  Peters- 
burg. 

"Well,"  he  said  quietly,  "just  as  you  like. 
It  will  be  all  the  same,  and  it  is  for  you  to  de- 
cide." 

The  afternoon  train  that  left  the  northern 
city  that  day  carried  Boris,  and  it  also  car- 
ried two  of  the  Secret  Service  men,  the  two 
cleverest  and  least  scrupulous  of  those  at- 
tached to  Count  d'Annenkoff's  entourage. 

Boris  knew  his  passport  would  be  delayed  a 
day  or  two,  and,  on  reaching  the  frontier,  he 
was  resigned  to  his  fate.  He  took  rooms  at  a 
hotel  and  telegraphed  constantly  to  his  uncle ; 
but  got  no  reply.  The  officials  told  him  the 
wires  were  down.  On  the  fourth  day,  har- 
assed and  dismayed  beyond  endurance,  he 
grew  desperate. 


256  THE    LEVELLER 

A  man  came  to  him.  "Barin,"  he  said, 
"you  look  troubled.  You  are  awaiting  a  pass- 
port that  is  delayed ;  is  it  not  so  ?  Now,  I  am  a 
poor  man  and  sometimes  a  poor  man  will 
take  a  risk.  For  a  hundred  roubles  I  will 
put  you  in  a  sack  and  drive  you  in  my  farm- 
er's wagon  across  the  frontier.  I  am  a  dealer 
in  potatoes,  and  the  sentries  all  know  me.  I 
can  pass  you." 

"A  hundred  roubles?"  Boris  pulled  out 
his  purse  at  once  and  counted  out  the  money. 
"How  soon,  how  soon?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"To-night,"  replied  the  man;  "to-night 
you  will  come  to  my  house;  I  will  take  you 
there  now  and  we  will  cross  the  frontier 
before  dawn.  You  are  a  big  fellow,  barin," 
he  went  on,  smiling,  "but  I  don't  think  we 
will  have  any  difficulty  in  bundling  you  in. 
Once  over  the  frontier,  you  know " 

"Yes,  once  over  the  frontier,"  repeated 
Boris,  the  gloom  in  his  face  disappearing  as 
his  spirits  rose  buoyantly. 

He  left  his  hotel  near  midnight,  having 
changed  his  student's  uniform  and  put  on 
plain  clothes.  The  peasant  hurried  him  to  his 
back  yard,  where  the  sleigh,  with  its  sacks  of 
potatoes,  stood  ready.  The  night  was  bitterly 
cold,  but  to  facilitate  his  entrance  into  the 


THE    LEVELLER  257 

sack  Boris  insisted  on  removing  his  fur  coat; 
then  the  peasant  whipped  up  his  horses,  and 
they  started  on  their  journey.  Cramped  and 
numb  with  the  cold,  Boris  listened  to  the 
swish  of  the  steel  runners  over  the  frozen 
snow,  and  the  rattle  of  the  harness.  With  the 
true  lightheartedness  of  the  peasant,  his 
driver  was  singing  snatches  of  song  and 
speaking  endearingly  to  his  three  horses. 
Then  they  reached  the  frontier  and  a  rough 
voice  challenged  the  driver.  A  hurried  con- 
versation, held  in  whispers,  passed  between 
some  men ;  then  the  man  showed  his  papers. 

"Potatoes,  potatoes!"  cried  a  voice  and  a 
soldier  began  swinging  a  lantern  over  the 
sleigh.  Suddenly  Boris  felt  a  hand  passed 
over  his  arm. 

"Potatoes,  potatoes!  Oh,  hey!  Let  us 
have  a  look  at  these  potatoes.  A  new  growth, 
my  friend;  a  strange  growth,  on  my  soul!" 

A  moment  later  two  soldiers  liberated 
Boris,  and  a  fearful  scene  ensued.  Boris 
stormed  and  swore.  "Telegraph  to  Count 
d'Annenkoff!  Find  out  if  I  am  not  Count 
Gourowsky,  his  nephew!"  he  cried,  shaking 
his  fist  in  the  faces  of  those  nearest  him ;  but 
his  jailers  had  their  orders.  They  laughed 
at  him,  jeered  him,  and  treated  him  as  a  mad- 


258  THE    LEVELLER 

man,  till  finally  his  actions  and  his  statements 
became  so  peculiar  they  almost  came  to  be- 
lieve he  was  one. 

Handcuffed  and  raging,  he  was  thrown  into 
a  cell. 

An  attack  of  acute  pneumonia  and  brain 
fever  sent  Boris  to  the  prison  hospital  the  fol- 
lowing day,  and  the  Countess  for  many  a  day 
and  night  following  wept  and  prayed,  as  only 
a  mother  can,  that  her  son  be  spared  to  her. 

At  the  end  of  a  month,  weak,  emaciated, 
a  shadow  of  his  former  self,  he  was  on  the 
road  to  convalescence. 

Still  protesting  that  he  wished  to  go  at  once 
to  Berlin,  he  was  taken  instead  to  St.  Peters- 
burg, where  the  heavy  winter  was  just  break- 
ing up,  and  all  was  desolation  and  dreariness, 
the  streets  filled  with  slush,  the  atmosphere 
moist  and  gloomy. 

He  asked  for  the  papers,  especially  the 
papers  from  Berlin.  It  was  the  Countess  her- 
helf  who  gave  them  to  him  and  offered  to  read 
them  to  him,  but  he  shook  his  head.  He 
wanted  to  read  them  himself. 

He  read  of  Louboff 's  success,  and  his  face 
flushed  as  he  saw  the  many  flattering  en- 
comiums of  the  German  critics  and  the  preva- 
lence of  the  term  "colossal,"  Rubinstein's 


THE  LEVELLER  259 

very  expression.  She  had  given  not  one,  but 
four  concerts,  and  a  certain  Baron  Eudolph 
Oppenheim,  one  of  the  richest  bankers  in  Ger- 
many, had  carpeted  the  estrade  on  every  oc- 
casion with  roses  in  her  honor.  Her  triumph 
was  complete. 

Boris  still  read  on,  hungry  for  news.  He 
came  on  a  paragraph  which  announced  Frau- 
lein  Malkiel's  regretted  quitting  of  the  con- 
cert stage,  and  then  followed  the  announce- 
ment of  her  marriage  to  Baron  Oppenheim. 

Boris  had  a  relapse.  Specialists  were  called 
in,  and  for  days  he  hung  between  life  and 
death,  then  slowly  the  splendid  vitality  of  his 
youth  triumphed. 

One  day,  lying  on  his  couch,  morose,  weak, 
miserable,  only  half  conscious,  a  shadow 
came  between  him  and  the  light,  and  looking 
up,  he  saw  the  leonine  head  of  Anton  Rubin- 
stein bending  over  him. 

Rubinstein  took  the  chair  by  the  side  of  the 
couch,  and  his  big,  cool  hand  clasped  that  of 
Boris  in  a  mute  sympathy. 

' '  You  have  news  ? ' '  asked  Boris  weakly. 

An  eager  light  had  crept  into  his  eyes, 
weird  and  staring  from  his  long  illness. 

' '  News !  Ah,  my  boy,  women,  women !  No, 
I  have  no  news ;  I  never  wish  to  hear  her  name 


260  TEE    LEVELLER 

again.  She  treated  me  as  she  treated  you; 
as  women  always  treat  us,  when  we  are  fools 
enough  to  trust  them,  or  expect  anything  from 
them.  I  came  just  to  see  you." 

"Ah,  to  gloat  'over  me  again?'* 

A  pained  expression  crossed  Rubinstein's 
mobile  face. 

' '  Gloat  ?  "  he  said  questioningly. 

"Yes;  what  was  it  you  said  that  day  in  the 
carriage,  the — the  last  time  I  saw  you — and 
her?  Oh,  Anton  Gregoriewitch,  gloat,  gloat; 
I  have  suffered — suffered  the  agonies  of  the 
damned — I  am  suffering ! ' ' 

"And  to  no  purpose." 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch,  can  you  explain 
things?" 

Rubinstein  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  the 
expression  of  his  face  was  ironical  in  the  ex- 
treme. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  never  try  where 
women  are  concerned.  I  have  lived  through  it 
all.  I  know  women.  Why,  "he  paused,  looked 
quickly  at  Boris,  and  then  continued  steadily, 
yet  with  apparent  effort: 

"I  left  Russia  in  1854;  my  first  great  tour. 
I  left  a  girl  then,  right  here  in  St.  Petersburg ; 
a  girl  I  loved  passionately;  a  singer;  her 
name — well,  no  matter — I  could  have  sworn 


THE  LEVELLER  261 

then  an  oath  before  Heaven  that  if  ever 
woman  loved  a  man,  she  loved  me.  She  was 
my  inspiration.  I  went  from  town  to  town, 
doing  my  best,  gathering  laurels,  gathering 
them  only  to  lay  at  her  feet.  I  returned" — 
Rubinstein  stopped  short;  over  his  expres- 
sive features  there  passed  a  look  of  agony 
and  scorn ;  then  he  laughed  with  a  bitterness 
that  made  Boris  shiver — "and — I  found  her 
married. ' ' 

Eubinstein  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  a 
moment,  then  he  went  on  passionately:  "Did 
I  find  a  reason  ?  No !  No !  Women  and  rea- 
son are  not  partners.  Woman  is,  has  been, 
and  always  will  be,  an  enigma;  the  crudest 
of  all  enigmas." 

"You  got  over  it." 

"DidI?" 

"Anton  Gregoriewitch,  the  world  says  so." 

"The  world?  Perhaps — I  loved  other 
women.  Yes,  hundreds  of  them;  but,  well, 
there  is  something  about  the — the  first — it  is 
never  quite  the  same ;  the  romance  that  is  like 
no  other  dies  forever  when  trust  goes." 

The  light  had  faded  and  Kubinstein  rose 
and  paced  the  floor  restlessly.  He  stood  in 
the  center  of  the  room,  his  head  bent;  then, 
going  over  to  the  grand  pianoforte,  he  opened 


262  TEE    LEVELLER 

it.    A  moment  later  he  commenced  his  own 

Leonore  Ballade. 

As  the  opening  chords  of  the  grandest  and 
weirdest  of  all  tone  pictures  for  the  piano- 
forte smote  the  stillness,  Boris  sat  up  for  the 
first  time  since  his  illness,  his  intellect  alert, 
his  brain  keen  to  all  the  emotions  born  of  the 
inspired  playing  of  Russia's  greatest  pianist. 
All  the  agony  and  despair,  the  poignant  grief 
of  disappointed  love,  the  desolation  of  hope- 
lessness, the  soul  weariness  and  revolt  of 
harassed  passion,  rang  out  in  the  music. 
Boris,  listening,  could  feel  the  blood  recede 
from  his  heart,  his  hands  grow  numb. 

The  amazing  technique  of  the  piece  that  the 
greatest  of  latter-day  pianists  find  insur- 
mountable seemed  but  a  plaything  to  the 
composer.  The  difficulties  he  himself  had 
created  had  no  place  in  his  memory.  He  was 
wrestling  only  with  passions  and  emotions, 
exhausting  the  gamut  of  human  pain  and  suf- 
fering, of  terror  and  despair,  playing  as  few 
ever  had  heard  him. 

When  he  had  finished  Boris  looked  up  in 
exhausted  silence.  The  room  was  in  semi- 
darkness,  and,  rising,  Rubinstein  himself 
turned  on  the  lights ;  then  he  came  slowly  over 
to  where  Boris  was. 


TEE    LEVELLER  263 

Boris  had  fallen  back  on  his  pillows ;  he  lay 
staring  up  at  the  mobile  face,  with  its  strong 
lines  and  shadows  of  suffering  and  passion, 
its  magnetic  charm  that  had  conquered  thou- 
sands, its  conscious  power  and  majesty  of 
genius.  Looking,  Boris  no  longer  marveled 
at  the  absolute  devotion — which  had  once  so 
angered  him — that  Louboff  gave  to  Anton 
Rubinstein. 

He  saw  him  as  she  saw  him,  a  Titan  among 
men. 

Eubinstein  came  nearer  and  passed  his 
hand  lightly  over  the  hair  and  forehead  of 
Boris,  gently  and  tenderly,  as  a  woman  might. 

11  Eh  bien,  mon  camarade,  camarade  in  dis- 
illusion, camarade  in  misery,  camarade  in  our 
knowledge  of  women." 

1 '  You  have  not  forgotten  yet  T '  ' 

"Forgotten?"  Rubinstein's  voice  was  soft 
and  almost  caressing  in  its  misery.  "There 
are  some  things  one  never  forgets — till  the 
grave ;  and  then,  who  knows  ?  Some  say  hell, 
or  heaven — others  Nirvana. ' ' 

He  laughed  shortly  and  extended  his  hand. 
"I  must  go  now.  You  will  brace  up  and  come 
and  see  me.  One  must  not  lose  one's  man- 
hood because  a  woman  has  broken  faith.  The 
world  is  big  and  its  interests  are  many."  He 


264  THE    LEVELLER 

paused,  looked  searchingly  at  Boris,  threw 
back  his  head  and  gave  Boris  one  of  his 
powerful  handshakes.  *  *  You  will  take  my  ad- 
yice,  and  you  will  come  and  see. me,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"Some  day,  cher  Maitre." 

"Good;  I  shall  look  forward  to  seeing  you. 
fYou  are  very  sympathetic  to  me,  Boris  Alex- 
anderowitch.  Au  revoir." 

11  Au  revoir,  Anton  Gregoriewitch.  Thank 
you  so  much  for  coming,"  said  Boris  grate- 
fully, as  he  watched  him  to  the  door;  then 
the  heavy  curtains  hid  him  from  view — the 
great  composer  had  passed  out  of  his  life  for- 
ever. 

It  was  springtime  at  last.  Over  in  the 
Islands  the  birds  were  singing,  thrushes  and 
blackbirds  piped  in  the  lilacs,  the  air  was 
balmy  with  the  odor  of  flowers,  the  waters 
were  alive  with  pleasure  craft,  the  woods 
with  laughter  and  the  revelry  of  merrymak- 
ers. 

Boris,  heeding  Rubinstein's  advice,  got  out 
of  his  sick  bed  and  drove  one  day  to  the  Gou- 
rowsky  Palace.  From  the  grasses  he  picked 
a  bunch  of  the  big  double  violets,  "just  to 
show  her,"  he  muttered,  "that  I  at  least  keep 
my  promise." 


THE    LEVELLER  265 

He  sent  no  note ;  there  was  nothing  he  could 
say;  he  knew  she  would  understand,  and 
Count  d'Annenkoff,  feeling  the  glory  of 
spring  and  softened  by  it,  let  the  pretty  flow- 
ers be  forwarded. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Ten  years  later  Russia  was  in  one  of  her 
periodical  throes  of  financial  distress;  there 
were  rumors  of  wars  and  internal  troubles. 
Paid  agents  circulated  in  the  various  Eu- 
ropean cities  statements  that  the  time  was 
ripe  for  a  new  loan  and  the  great  banking 
houses  made  their  calculations  and  came  for- 
ward with  plans. 

Boris  Alexanderowitch,  who  occupied  a  re- 
sponsible position  in  the  Ministry  of  Finance, 
one  day  opened  a  letter  from  Baron  Rudolph 
Oppenheim.  A  strange  thrill  of  curiosity  and 
disgust  shot  through  him  as  he  took  up  the 
letter.  This  was  the  writing  of  the  man  who 
was  her  husband — the  man  who  had  usurped 
his  place.  How  neat,  how  well-formed  was  his 
caligraphy,  how  polished  and  elegant  the 
style  of  the  crisp,  well-chosen  sentences.  Boris 
laid  the  letter  before  his  chief,  was  directed 
to  reply  to  it,  and  a  week  later  the  great  wiz- 
ard of  finance,  the  man  whose  power  was 
greater  than  that  of  kings,  arrived  in  St. 
Petersburg. 

It  was  to  be  a  great  loan,  a  loan  of  mil- 

266 


THE    LEVELLER  267 

Hards ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  the  secrecy  with 
which  such  matters  are  surrounded  and 
guarded,  the  loan  was  soon  openly  discussed 
and  commented  on,  and  the  presence  of  the 
great  European  banker,  said  the  gossips, 
made  its  signing  a  certainty.  To  such  an  ex- 
tent and  so  daring  was  the  gossip  and  rumors 
grew  so  wild  and  false  that  finally  the  money 
market  became  unsettled,  and  in  consequence 
the  wily  old  banker  went  back  to  Berlin  with 
nothing  accomplished. 

The  Tsar's  advisers  saw  a  crisis  ahead. 
Money  was  needed  and  needed  badly,  but  the 
chances  for  getting  it  most  unpropitious.  The 
Russian  Minister  of  Finance  had  a  difficult 
task  before  him.  Even  the  most  courageous 
of  the  banking  houses  held  off  just  then  from 
taking  risks.  If,  however,  the  mountain 
would  not  go  to  Mahomed,  then  Mahomed 
must  go  to  the  mountain.  The  matter  formed 
a  discussion  in  the  Imperial  Council,  and  sud- 
denly the  president,  Count  d'Annenkoff — he 
had  given  up  the  portfolio  as  Minister  of 
the  Interior  some  years  previously — said 
suddenly  to  the  Minister  of  Finance:  "My 
nephew,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  is  intimate, 
or  was,  rather,  with  Madame  Oppenheim — 
she  is  a  Russian,  you  know — send  him  to  Ber- 


268  TEE    LEVELLER 

lin.  If  any  one  can  manage  this  matter,  he 
can.  The  baron  is  the  only  one  who  has  made 
us  any  practical  offer. ' ' 

The  Minister  of  Finance  knew  Count  d'An- 
nenkoff  's  advice  was  always  valuable,  and  as 
a  last  resort  he  accepted  it. 

Boris  received  his  orders  in  silence.  It  was 
a  great  honor  for  so  young  a  man;  but  he 
showed  no  sign  of  emotion  or  elation.  He 
made  his  preparation  speedily  and  went  on 
what  was  practically  his  first  vacation  in  ten 
years. 

These  years  had  made  great  changes  in 
Boris  Alexanderowitch.  The  laughing,  open- 
hearted  youth,  had  given  place  to  a  man, 
gloomy,  morose,  silent,  almost  sullen  in  de- 
meanor. He  was  a  diplomat,  nothing  more; 
the  youngest  of  all  diplomats,  and  the  most 
dangerous  of  rivals ;  a  diplomat  without  vices 
and  without  distractions.  A  worker,  pure  and 
simple,  he  had  gone  from  step  to  step  rapidly ; 
almost  too  rapidly,  for  it  had  made  him  many 
enemies;  but  even  these  recognized  in  him 
the  coming  man.  His  family  had  worked  for 
him  ceaselessly,  the  prestige  of  his  uncle  had 
helped  him  enormously,  and  his  own  industry 
and  faithfulness  had  done  the  rest. 

As  his  uncle  had  predicted,  in  spite  of  many 


THE  LEVELLER  269 

setbacks,  Boris  concluded  his  difficult  task 
satisfactorily.  When  the  matter  was  all  set- 
tled, all  that  remained  being  clerical  work  and 
the  signatures  of  those  concerned,  which  were 
to  be  attached  later  in  St.  Petersburg,  the 
Baron  invited  Count  Gourowsky  to  his  castle 
on  the  Rhine. 

"I  want  you  to  know  my  wife.  I  ought  not 
to  say  it,  perhaps,"  he  added  gallantly,  "but 
I  must :  she  is  the  most  charming  and  beauti- 
ful woman  in  Germany.  She  was  a  pupil  of 
Rubinstein,  and  she  will  be  delighted  to  wel- 
come you,  I  know.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  let  me 
tell  you,  it  was  the  Baroness  who  really  talked 
me  into  this  loan." 

Boris  bowed.  He  tried  to  say  something, 
but  no  words  would  come.  In  that  moment  his 
mind  was  one  wild,  bewildering  jumble  of 
emotions. 

* '  Let  me  show  you  her  photograph. ' ' 

"No."  Boris  stood  up.  "I-  Why— " 
he  went  on  as  calmly  as  he  could.  "I  do  not 
know 'if  the  Baroness  remembers  me,  but  I 
knew  her  when  she  was  a  pupil  of  Rubin- 
stein's." 

"Oh,  indeed?  Good;  then  all  the  more  rea- 
son you  should  come  at  once  and  renew  the 
acquaintance.  This  time  I  insist.  My  wife"— • 


270  THE    LEVELLER 

he  went  on  somewhat  thoughtfully — ' '  is  such 
a  strange  woman;  she  keeps  to  herself  too 
much.  She  shuns  society,  yet  people  run  after 
her  constantly.  If  you  already  know  her 
there  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  how  charm- 
ing she  is.  When  I  married  her  first,  jealous 
people — the  world  is  full  of  them — said :  *  She 
marries  you  for  your  money;  wait,  see  how 
she  will  neglect  you,*  but  year  by  year  she 
shows  me  instead  new  proofs  of  her  devotion. 
"We  are  so  happy  together,  ah,"  went  on  the 
old  man,  his  eyes  suspiciously  moist,  "it  is 
hard  to  believe  it,  but,  when  I  urge  on  her  to 
have  people  to  our  house,  to  go  out,  to  amuse 
herself ,  she  always  says,  smiling :  'No.  "Why 
should  we  have  people  here?  Let  us  instead 
have  a  quiet  evening,  just  you  and  I,  Ru- 
dolph.' " 

Every  fresh  word  the  Baron  uttered  seemed 
to  stab  Boris  more  deeply,  and  his  voice  was 
still  and  constrained  as  he  said  coldly : 

"You  are  most  fortunate." 

"Fortunate?  Surely,  so  fortunate  that 
sometimes  I  doubt  the  evidences  of  my  own 
senses,  that  I — I  should  have  the  love  of  so 
incomparable  a  woman.  Why,  the  last  ten 
years  of  my  life  have  been  one  long  dream. 
Paradise  itself." 


THE    LEVELLER  271 

Boris  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  He 
could  stand  no  more;  his  very  heartstrings 
seemed  cracking.  The  Baron  turned  his  sur- 
prised eyes  on  him.  ''Pardon  me,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "I  rhapsodize,  and,  as  the  saying 
goes,  there  is  no  fool  like  an  old  fool;  but, 
believe  me,  this  time  I  am  not  altogether  one. 
You  will  come  and  judge  for  yourself.  I  have 
still  to  persuade  you,  have  I?  Do  come,  my 
wife  will  be  so  delighted.  She  has  everything 
Eussian  or  belonging  to  Russia  on  the  brain. 
She  speaks  nothing  else  when  she  can,  and 
two-thirds  of  our  servants  are  Russian." 

Boris  hesitated.  "What  good  to  reopen  the 
old  wound!"  was  his  first  decision;  then  an 
uncontrollable  desire  to  see  her  once  more 
overcame  him,  a  desire  he  found  himself  un- 
able to  combat  got  the  better  of  his  judgment, 
and  he  accepted. 

It  was  Friday  afternoon,  and  then  and 
there  the  Baron  wanted  to  take  him  to  his 
country  place,  but  Boris  pleaded  business,  and 
promised  to  be  with  him  the  day  following. 

"It  would  not  do  to  take  her  by  surprise," 
he  thought. 

Once  again  he  passed  a  night  of  inquietude 
and  sleeplessness,  such  as  those  she  had 
caused  him  in  his  early  manhood.  The  old 


272  THE    LEVELLER 

fever  came  over  him  and  he  was  back  in  the 
past,  to  the  scenes  of  his  student  life,  living 
over  again  all  the  vivid  events  of  his  meet- 
ing with  Louboff,  the  night  with  Eubinstein, 
the  delirium  of  his  last  days  of  happiness. 

"Why  do  I  worry?  Why  do  I  still  think  of 
her?  She  deserted  me,"  he  thought  bitterly. 
"Deserted  me  to  marry  Oppenheim,  a  man  of 
millions,  old,  greedy,  horrible,"  and  the 
wrinkled  face  of  the  famous  banker,  hand- 
some and  benevolent  though  it  was,  rose  up 
before  him  as  he  saw  it  distorted  through  his 
jealousy — yellow,  hawknosed,  and  repulsive. 

The  Baron  met  him  at  the  station,  and  in 
the  gorgeous  sunlight  of  a  May  afternoon 
they  drove  through  the  enchanting  loveliness 
of  the  Ehine  scenery. 

Again  Boris  could  feel  his  heart  beating  as 
when  a  youth,  the  blood  surging  madly 
through  his  veins,  in  that  thrilling,  rapturous 
excitement  like  unto  no  other.  They  stopped 
before  a  great  feudal  pile,  once  the  home  of  a 
prince  of  the  blood,  and  bought  by  the  mil- 
lions of  the  shrewd  and  lucky  financier. 

* '  This  is  her  home,  the  home  for  which  she 
sold  our  happiness,"  Boris  told  himself,  and 
he  tried  to  hate  the  beauty  about  him,  to  find 
ugliness,  to  infuse  into  himself  the  bitter- 


THE  LEVELLER  273 

ness  he  knew  was  right  to  feel  against  her. 

"Baroness  Oppenheim,"  said  the  man- 
servant, in  response  to  the  rapid  inquiries  of 
the  Baron,  "is  in  the  music-room." 

Away  at  the  end  of  a  great  Gothic  chamber 
Boris  saw  a  white  figure.  She  came  rapidly 
toward  them,  her  hand  outstretched,  her  white 
chiffon  draperies  sweeping  the  polished  oak 
floor  noiselessly,  her  cheeks  pink  as  the  early 
roses  she  wore.  Then  once  more  her  hand 
was  clasped  in  his,  he  looked  down  into  the 
star-like  eyes,  as,  with  a  flush  spreading  to 
the  roots  of  his  golden  hair,  he  bent  and  kissed 
the  hand  she  gave  him. 

"Will  she  dare  salute  me  Russian  fashion 
on  the  forehead,"  Boris  wondered  in  agoniz- 
ing nervousness,  as  he  feared  for  a  moment 
as  if  his  reason  was  leaving  him. 

Ten  years  had  not  changed  her;  they  had 
given  a  greater  dignity  to  her  manner,  a 
rounder  contour  to  her  always  sylph-like 
form;  that  strange,  elusive  something,  mys- 
terious and  haunting,  which  marriage  gives 
to  some  women,  had  but  added  to  her  charm. 

The  Baron  excused  himself;  Louboff  and 
Boris  sat  down. 

For  a  moment  they  could  find  nothing  to 
say,  then  his  confused  gaze  stole  to  her  hand; 


274  THE    LEVELLER 

she   still   wore   his   betrothal   ring   of   tur- 
quoises. 

1  'I  have  to  thank  you,"  she  began  at  last, 
"for  the  bunch  of  violets  you  sent  from  the 
Islands;  they  came  sweet  and  lovely." 

She  had  remembered  that.  She  dared  to 
remind  him. 

"And  I,  Madame,"  he  answered,  his  voice 
glacial  in  its  hauteur,  as  he  bowed  ironically, 
"I  have  to  thank  you  for  months  and  years 
of  misery." 

He  had  thrown  down  the  gauntlet  the  very 
moment  of  his  arrival. 

She  raised  her  lovely  eyes  to  his,  sad  and 
eloquent  in  their  reproachfulness.  "You  are 
very  great,"  she  replied  gently,  "I  have 
watched  your  career,  and  that,  that  at  least, 
you  owe  to  me." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Our  betrothal  was  a  mistake  from  the 
first,"  she  continued  agitatedly.  "I  knew  it 
all  along ;  I  told  you  at  the  time  and  the  night 
your  mother  pointed  it  all  out  to  me." 

"Ah,  the  night  I  was  sent  for,  to  play 
cards,"  he  broke  in. 

"Yes.  Well,  I  made  up  my  mind  there  must 
be  a  sacrifice  and  I  was  the  one  who  had  to 
make  that  sacrifice. ' ' 


THE    LEVELLER  275 

"But,  was  it  a  sacrifice?"  he  inquired  with 
pointed  sarcasm. 

Her  voice  broke  and  trembled  as  she  replied 
softly:  "Boris,  I  gave  up  my  art  lest  you 
should  think  that  had  come  between  us;  I 
have  married  the  best  man  on  earth,  a  man 
noble,  philanthropic,  clever — but — I  only 
married  to  save  you ;  I  married  because  till  I 
was  bound  hand  and  foot  I  could  not  feel  sure 
of  myself.  It  was  not  a  marriage  of  inclina- 
tion or  of  greed,  and  do  not  forget  that  there 
is  forty  years'  difference  in  age  between  my 
husband  and  myself. ' '  Then  she  held  up  her 
hand  with  a  half  sob.  * '  See, ' '  she  added  pite- 
ously,  "I  wear  your  ring." 

He  grasped  her  hand  roughly.  * l  Then  you 
love  me  still?"  he  cried  passionately.  "You 
love  me  as  I  still  love  you?  Yet  you  allowed 
worldly  considerations  to  come  between  us. 
Oh,  Louboff,  where  was  your  trust?" 

"I  acted  for  the  best;  I  acted  for  your 
good;  I  made  a  mistake,  perhaps,  and  yet" — 
she  added  in  a  lighter  tone,  as  she  looked  up  at 
him — "you  are  great — you " 

"Louboff!"  he  cried,  his  voice  ringing  clear 
and  far  through  the  room,  the  acoustics  of 
which  were  perfect,  "you  worked  me  the 
greatest  wrong  woman  ever  worked  on  man; 


276  THE    LEVELLER 

you  blasted  my  life,  and  yet  I  love  you  still, 
and,  good  God,  you  love  me  still !  Oh,  sweet- 
heart, sweetheart ! ' ' 

She  jumped  to  her  feet.  " Boris,  Boris," 
she  said  quickly,  "hush!  I  am  another 
man's  wife  now,  and  he  is  good,  so  good;  he 
has  done  all  in  his  power  to  make  me  happy. 
I  cannot  listen  to  you.  Put  the  old  Louboif 
from  your  thoughts;  she  is  dead,  or  worse 
than  dead;  be  yourself,  control  yourself. 
Come, ' '  she  added,  after  a  pause  of  poignant 
emotion  to  both,  "let  me  show  you  my  rose 
garden ;  the  air  will  do  you  good. ' ' 

She  went  forward  as  she  finished  and  for  a 
moment,  as  she  passed  beyond  the  silk  cur- 
tains to  the  window  leading  to  the  terrace,  he 
hesitated,  seeing  nothing  but  one  blur  of  the 
things  before  his  vision,  then  he  went  after 
her. 

Two  minutes  later  there  tottered  from  an 
inner  room  the  bent,  decrepit  figure  of  the 
old  Baron,  his  face  ghastly  pale,  his  gray 
head  bent  in  utter  dejection. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

Boris  arrived  in  St.  Petersburg  with  the 
good  news  that  the  Baron  was  to  follow  in  a 
few  days  to  sign  the  loan,  just  as  soon  as  all 
the  innumerable  details  could  be  arranged. 
He  was  welcomed  enthusiastically  by  his  col- 
leagues at  the  Ministerium.  His  chief  com- 
plimented him  highly  on  his  success,  promis- 
ing to  lay  the  matter  specially  before  the 
Tsar.  Boris  listened  with  apathy,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  career  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  call  of  duty.  Matters  of  importance 
needed  consideration,  a  mass  of  correspond- 
ence awaited  him,  but,  try  as  he  would,  he 
could  not  saddle  his  attention  to  work. 

The  second  day  after  his  arrival  in  St. 
Petersburg,  after  placing  the  wreath  Louboff 
had  given  him  on  Eubinstein's  grave  in  the 
Alexander  Nevsky  Monastery,  Boris  asked 
for  a  few  days'  leave  of  absence  and  started 
immediately  for  Gourowsky. 

The  memory  of  the  one  evening  he  had 
spent  with  the  Baroness  Eudolph  haunted 
and  unnerved  him.  In  her  rose  garden  Loub- 
off had  exercised  a  dignity  toward  him  that 
hurt  him. 

277 


278  THE    LEVELLER 

She  would  not  let  him  speak  of  himself  nor 
of  his  feelings,  studiously  avoiding  all  men- 
tion of  her  own,  and  she  addressed  him 
throughout  as  Boris  Alexanderowitch.  It  was 
of  Russia  she  spoke;  Russia,  and  always 
Russia. 

"I  have  wanted  so  much  to  go  back,"  she 
said  sadly,  "and  perhaps  now  I  will  some 
day.  Oh,  Boris  Alexanderowitch,  it  is  im- 
possible to  realize  how  dear  the  land  of  one's 
birth  and  early  associations  can  be  till  one  is 
denied  access  to  it.  The  snow  and  the  desola- 
tion, our  beautiful  sudden  spring,  the  steppes, 
the  peasants,  the  church  bells  booming  in  the 
frosty  air — all  the  Byzantine  loveliness,  so 
peculiarly  a  part  of  our  country.  Ah,  what 
would  I  not  give  for  a  sight  of  it  I  For  a  drive 
down  the  Nevsky  or  to  scent  one  of  those 
wild  northern  breezes  that  blow  over  the 
Neva." 

"You  can  love  it  like  that,  a  land  that  has 
treated  you  so  harshly?"  Boris  thought,  and 
as  he  noted  the  melancholy  droop  of  her 
lovely  mouth,  he  felt  like  saying  things  that 
were  wild  and  unreasonable. 

Their  leavetaking  was  simple.  He  shook 
hands  with  her,  kissed  her  hand,  and,  turning 
away,  asked  himself,  was  this  really  a  part- 


THE  'LEVELLER  279 

ing!  Could  it  be  that,  after  so  many  years 
of  misery  and  misunderstanding,  she  was  al- 
lowing him  to  go  away  without  one  promise 
or  token  of  her  affection?  "Ah!"  he  told 
himself  bitterly,  "she  is  a  comedienne;  she 
has  never  loved  me,  never!"  Then  he  looked 
down  into  her  eyes  and  the  agony  he  read 
there  made  his  heart  beat  and  the  blood  rush 
to  his  temples.  He  paused,  looked  back,  tried 
to  say  something,  but  the  old  Baron  was  be- 
side him,  and  the  next  moment  he  had  entered 
the  carriage  and  Louboff  stood  on  the  steps 
waving  adieu,  her  face  white  as  death. 

How  the  journey  back  was  accomplished 
Boris  never  knew,  for  to  him  it  passed  as  a 
dream.  On  reaching  St.  Petersburg  he  had 
pulled  himself  sufficiently  together  to  give 
lucid  answers  to  the  many  questions  put  to 
him  and  make  his  report,  then  he  collapsed. 

When  he  arrived  at  Gourowsky,  unheralded 
and  unexpected,  his  mother  met  him,  enthusi- 
astic delight  in  her  welcome. 

"Boris,  Boris,  what  lucky  wind  blows  you 
here?  This  is  indeed  a  joy  I  had  not  looked 
for." 

Something  in  the  expression  of  his  face 
alarmed  her.  He  made  no  effort  to  return 
her  embrace;  he  stood  stiff  and  unbending 
on  the  threshold. 


280  THE    LEVELLER 

"What — what  is  it,  Boris?  Has  anything 
happened?'*  she  asked,  alarmed. 

"Mother,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  want  to  be 
alone.  I  am  upset.  I  have  just  arrived  from 
Berlin,  as  you  know;  from  Berlin —  a  journey 
I  should  have  made  ten  years  ago, ' '  he  added, 
concentrated  bitterness  in  his  voice,  his  blue 
eyes  bent  on  her  disdainfully. 

"Boris,  Boris,  you  have  seen  her?" 

"Yes." 

"And " 

"Mother,  why  go  over  it?  You  have  been  a 
good  mother  to  me — perhaps — but  when  you 
came  between  us " 

Emotion  overmastered  him,  he  turned 
quickly  and  left  her  presence. 

For  several  days  she  saw  nothing  of  him. 
Making  a  pretext  of  looking  over  the  estate 
he  slept  at  the  house  of  his  overseer,  spend- 
ing his  days  riding  and  roaming  through  the 
woods. 

"It  was  better  as  I  thought  it,  during  the 
last  ten  years,"  he  told  himself  bitterly.  "A 
man  can  live  down  the  inevitable,  but  this — 
this — that  Louboff  should  love  me  yet,  work 
me  so  grievous  an  injury  and  that  my 
mother " 

The  burden  of  his  thoughts  seemed  greater 


THE    REVELLER  281 

than  lie  could  bear ;  the  quiet  and  loneliness  of 
Gourowsky  threw  him  entirely  on  his  own  re- 
sources. Night  or  day  it  seemed  he  could  not 
get  away  from  himself  and  his  trouble  even 
for  a  minute. 

" Boris  Alexanderowitch  is  mad,"  said  his 
people  among  themselves,  and  they  went  with 
weird  tales  to  the  Countess,  who  listened  ap- 
palled. 

Before  a  week  was  over  a  telegram  came 
for  him  from  the  Ministerium.  He  had  then 
not  been  seen  for  several  days  and  the  Coun- 
tess herself,  half  maddened  by  agonizing 
doubts  and  fears,  was  one  of  the  seekers.  They 
traced  him  at  last,  several  miles  away  to  the 
house  of  a  peasant,  and  the  Countess  Gou- 
rowsky threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him. 

"Oh,  Boris,"  she  cried,  bursting  into  tears, 
"thank  God  you  are  living,  I — I  feared " 

The  expression  of  his  face  was  ironical. 

* '  No,  mother,  no ;  not  that, ' '  he  said  quietly, 
' '  only  cowards  do  that. ' '  Then  he  tore  open 
the  telegram. 

"Come  at  once,"  it  ran,  signed  by  the  Min- 
ister of  Finance. 

"There  must  be  work  ahead,"  he  thought, 
"much  work  or  they  would  not  send  for  me." 

An  hour  later  he  was  speeding  as  fast  as 
steam  could  take  him. 


282  TEE    LEVELLER 

On  reaching  St.  Petersburg  he  went 
straight  to  the  Ministerium  and  was  ushered 
at  once  into  the  office  of  his  chief. 

' '  Gourowsky, "  said  the  latter  looking  up 
hastily,  "where  have  you  been?  I  had  ex- 
pected that  when  you  knew  the  loan  was  in 
danger  you  would  have  come  back  without 
summoning. ' ' 

"The  loan  in  danger?"  queried  Boris. 

"Yes,  Baron  Oppenheim  is  dead." 

Without  a  word  or  sign  of  warning,  Boris 
Alexanderowitch  fell  face  forward  uncon- 
scious at  the  feet  of  the  Minister. 

He  could  never  account  for  it  himself,  nor 
could  the  doctors  hastily  summoned.  Ten 
minutes  after  they  had  revived  him  he  was 
in  full  possession  of  all  his  senses  and  an 
hour  later  he  was  at  his  desk. 


CHAPTEB  XXVI. 

During  the  week  that  Boris  had  idled  at 
Gourowsky  disquieting  telegrams  reached 
the  Eussian  Ministry  of  Finance.  Baron  Op- 
penheim  had  been  stricken  with  paralysis. 
His  journey  was  delayed.  Then  had  come 
the  telegram  announcing  his  death. 

This  latter  created  consternation.  Would 
the  loan  fall  through?  Would  the  Baron's 
decease  make  any  difference?  were  the  ques- 
tions that  agitated  the  Ministers. 

Boris  brought  all  his  energies  to  bear  on 
the  situation.  He  was  once  more  cool  headed, 
keen,  alert  of  intellect.  Couriers  were  at 
once  despatched  and  telegrams  began  to  pour 
in  on  the  banking  house  in  Berlin. 

"Yes,"  ciphered  the  dead  banker's  repre- 
sentatives, "it  may  make  a  difference.  The 
enormous  fortune  of  the  Baron  has  passed 
absolutely  to  his  wife,  it  remains  with  her." 

Boris  laid  the  telegram  before  the  Council 
of  the  Emperor  and  Count  d'Annenkoff, 
reading  it,  made  a  gesture  of  hopelessness. 

"That  settles  it,"  he  said  calmly.  "The 
Baroness  Oppenheim  is  a  Russian  Jewess 


283 


284  THE    LEVELLER 

and  the  game  is  hers.  She  holds  trumps.  We 
may  as  well  acknowledge  ourselves  beaten." 

Boris  smiled.  The  other  Ministers  were 
equally  as  pessimistic  as  the  Count.  Boris 
made  no  move  to  allay  their  fears.  He  had 
no  voice  in  the  Council,  he  was  merely  acting 
as  secretary  to  the  chief;  but  on  returning 
home  with  the  latter,  he  said  quietly: 

"Prince,  sleep  quietly  and  comfortably,  do 
not  let  this  thing  worry  you,  just  give  them 
time  to  bury  the  Baron.  Rest  assured  the 
loan  is  made." 

Two  days  later  another  Council  was  called 
hastily  and  Count  d'Annenkoff,  strangely 
elated  and  jubilant,  was  reading  the  contents 
of  the  latest  cipher  telegram  to  his  colleagues. 
Boris  was  looking  straight  at  him  and  for  a 
moment  as  the  old  statesman  felt  the  glance 
he  was  cowed  by  the  triumph  and  resentful 
scorn  that  seemed  to  blaze  at  him  from  his 
nephew's  eyes.  He  paused,  confused,  stam- 
mered, and  for  the  first  time  lost  his  self- 
control.  Then  he  delivered  his  message. 

The  Russian  Jewess  in  the  end  had  forgot- 
ten old  wrongs  and  proved  herself  a  patriot. 

The  great  loan  was  made. 

**          *****# 

A  year  later,  Boris,  agitated  but  smiling, 


THE  LEVELLER  285 

was  walking  up  and  down  the  platform  of  the 
railway  station  waiting  for  the  train  from 
Berlin.  It  was  early  summer  and  the  scorch- 
ing sun  beat  fiercely  down  on  the  streets  of 
the  city. 

The  train  steamed  in  slowly  and  LouboiT, 
her  lovely  face  radiant  with  joy  and  happi- 
ness, waved  from  her  far-off  position  on  the 
platform  a  gay  recognition.  One  moment 
more  and  they  were  together. 

People  descending  from  the  train,  and 
those  awaiting  relatives,  stared  at  the  fero- 
city of  his  embrace;  then  they  smiled.  A 
group  of  moujiks  chewing  sunflower  seeds  in 
happy  contentment  looked,  too,  and  nudged 
each  other,  but  of  all  this  Louboff  and  Boris 
were  blissfully  unconscious. 

''Is  it  not  as  I  said?  Is  it  not  as  I  said!" 
Boris  cried  joyfully.  "  Beloved,  I  saw  it  all, 
as  it  was,  not  you.  You  are  back  in  Eussia, 
as  I  always  told  you  you  would,  and  to-mor- 
row will  see  you  my  wife. ' ' 

" Boris,  Boris,"  said  Louboff,  as  she  dis- 
engaged herself  from  his  clasp  and  turned  to 
greet  his  mother,  who  had  just  arrived. 

11  Welcome  home,  welcome  to  Eussia,"  the 
older  woman  said  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 
''Welcome,  my  daughter." 


286  THE    LEVELLER 

"Baroness,  may  I,  too,  offer  my  congratu- 
lations and  my  wishes  for  your  happiness?" 
It  was  the  suave,  high-bred  tones  of  Count 
d'Annenkoff  that  fell  on  her  ear,  and  Louboff 
turned,  and  offered  him  her  hand  with  a  smile 
that  made  even  him  marvel  at  her  beauty. 

The  Gourowsky  palace  in  the  Islands  was 
all  lit  up.  Boris  and  Louboff  themselves 
would  have  preferred  a  simple  wedding,  but 
the  Tsar  had  intimated  a  wish  to  see  his 
youngest  Minister's  marriage,  and  a  great 
ball  terminated  the  ceremony  which  had  been 
solemnized  in  St.  Isaac's  with  all  the  pomp 
and  stateliness  known  to  the  Orthodox 
Church. 

At  last  the  Tsar  and  Tsaritza  left,  the 
other  guests  quickly  followed,  and  Louboff 
and  Boris  were,  for  the  first  time  that  even- 
ing, alone. 

Dawn  was  creeping  over  the  waters  and 
the  forest,  the  heavens  in  the  East  shone 
resplendent  with  intermingling  hues  of  gold 
and  rose.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Louboff 
and  her  husband  that  nature  awoke. 

A  sweet  piping  from  a  thrush  in  the  lilac 
bushes  was  answered  by  its  mate ;  the  call  of 
a  blackbird  sounded  in  the  distance;  then 
every  twig  and  blade  of  grass,  every  tree-top 


THE  LEVELLER  287 

gave  sign  of  movement  in  the  first  cool  loveli- 
ness of  the  dawn.  The  darkness  of  night  was 
over,  the  light  grew  stronger  and  stronger 
and  far  up  in  the  blue  of  the  heavens  a  lark 
commenced  its  wild,  sweet  paeon  of  gladness. 

His  arm  stole  about  her,  his  lips  sought 
hers  in  one  long  kiss  of  passionate  delight; 
then  the  soft  tones  of  his  voice  smote  her  ear 
and  mingled  with  the  lark's  song,  blither  and 
more  triumphant  in  their  intensity : 

"Oh,  my  love,  my  love,"  he  cried.  "We 
belong  to  each  other,  forever!" 


THE  END. 


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